


A Brief and Fleeting Omen

by Garonne



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Continuation, Coach Victor Nikiforov, Competitor Victor Nikiforov, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Relationship, Happy families, Language Kink, M/M, Meeting the Parents, POV Katsuki Yuuri, POV Victor Nikiforov, Post-Canon, Saint Petersburg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21769534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: After the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri accompanies Victor to his parents' home in Siberia.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 32
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is set in some kinder and better Alternative Universe where gay marriage is legal in Russia and Japan.

Beyond the car windows, the countryside lay shrouded in darkness. Yuuri let his tired eyes fall shut. Victor sat pressed up against him in the backseat, his hand in Yuuri's. Up front, Victor's father was driving.

During the first few kilometers after they'd left the airport, Victor and his father had exchanged occasional sentences in quick, quiet Russian. But now Victor had fallen completely silent, and his head lolled on Yuuri's shoulder.

They'd been travelling for over twelve hours: first a flight from Barcelona to Moscow-Sheremetyevo, and the same distance again from Moscow to Tomsk-Bogashevo. Victor's father had been waiting there, a tall, serious-looking man in his sixties. He was the first person Yuuri had ever seen with hair just the same silvery shade as Victor. He'd shook Yuuri's hand with a warm greeting, and crushed Victor in a hug.

Then they'd set off by car, deep into the Siberian countryside. 

Now, Yuuri watched the darkness fly by, and couldn't shake the feeling of venturing into an unknown and possibly hostile land.

It was a stupid feeling to have. He was a seasoned traveller, and he was perfectly well used to meeting and talking to strangers. Skating officials, journalists, representatives from the companies who sponsored him... He would never be able to say he _enjoyed_ making small talk with them, but he'd gotten used to it over the years.

But this was different. This was Victor's family. Yuuri took a deep breath and let it out slowly, concentrating on counting from five to one.

Beside him, Victor stirred. As though he'd read Yuuri's thoughts, he gave his hand a tight squeeze.

" _Daijoubu ka?_ " he murmured sleepily.

"I'm okay," Yuuri reassured him.

Soon the pitch-dark fields outside the car windows began to give way to lights and buildings. They drew up outside a small, four-storey apartment block. It must be after 11 o'clock at night in this timezone, but warm, welcoming lights still shone in some of the windows, and Yuuri could see the flickering blue light of a television screen in one of the ground floor apartments.

Outside the car, a shock of cold air hit Yuuri, with the double-digit-negative temperature of a Siberian winter. They all moved fast, and a minute later they were inside, in the light and warmth.

Victor's mother was waiting for them at the apartment door. A stately silver-haired woman, she was as tall as her husband, and now it was obvious where Victor got his height from.

She swept Victor into a crushing hug, and then a moment later Yuuri got the breath knocked out of him by the same treatment.

"I'm Galina Ivanovna," she said in English. "Welcome, Yuuri."

He stammered out a reply and his thanks. She beamed at him, and ushered them both into the apartment. 

"You boys must be tired and hungry," she said. "I know you always say you've already eaten, Vitya, but it's dinnertime now in Barcelona, so we laid out a few things in the kitchen just in case." 

The kitchen was a large room that clearly also served the role of living room. The table groaned under the weight of a huge variety of different styles of food: stuffed buns Yuuri knew were called pirozhki, along with little pancakes of grated potato and buckwheat pancakes whose Russian name he didn't know. But he saw also food that looked an awful lot like senbei, imagawayaki, arare, and other Japanese snacks, some in Japanese wrappers and others clearly homemade. There were even tortilla chips and pretzels, US-style. The Nikiforovs had clearly wanted to make sure there would be something there Yuuri would like to eat. 

After years of living abroad and no small amount of international travel, Yuuri wasn't picky when it came to food. He could eat anything on the table without difficulty. But what counted was the thought, and it warmed his heart to think of Victor's parents going to so much trouble to make him feel welcome.

" _Draniki!_ " Victor exclaimed, whatever that meant, and dived on the food.

Yuuri had been expecting Victor to remind him that eating just before going to sleep was the worst possible thing when you were on a diet. But Victor was already gulping down a potato pancake. Maybe he also had a rule about being allowed to eat whatever he wanted when returning home after winning. Yuuri sat down at Galina Ivanovna's insistence, and dug into a very welcome late-night snack.

Victor ate with his usual speed and enthusiasm, answering his mother's questions about their journey with nods and muffled single-word answers. Meanwhile, Yuuri chose a pirozhki. It was warm and greasy and absolutely delicious.

" _Vkusno,_ " he said to Victor's mother -- the first Russian world he'd ever learned.

She beamed at him. "We've been watching all your performances, you know. You were wonderful."

Yuuri blushed. "That's all thanks to Victor," he mumbled down into the cup of green tea she'd poured him.

"Well, I hope Vitya has been a good coach to you," she said, casting Victor a fond glance. "But he also sent us video of your performances before you met him. Your Junior Worlds free skate, for instance. You were wonderful then too."

Yuuri was about to mumble and demur again. But then he remembered that he was a Grand Prix silver medallist now. A world-class figure skater. Victor kept telling him that when people praised him, they actually meant it. 

He swallowed. "Um, thank you."

_That wasn't so hard, was it?_ he told himself. And now Victor was beaming at him too. That was good. Yuuri took another bite of his pirozhki, savouring the rich, meaty flavour.

Victor's father had disappeared into another room with their suitcases. Now he returned as Galina Ivanovna poured them both another cup of tea. 

"Did you remember the towels, Pasha?" she asked Victor's father, still in English.

He nodded. "The extra blankets are on the bed too."

Yuuri stared. "I thought..." His voice trailed off.

"Oh, Papa speaks English just fine," Victor said with a grin, seeing Yuuri's expression. "He just refuses to." 

Victor's father shot him a quelling look. "My accent is bad," he muttered. And... yes, his accent was pretty strong. But Yuuri could understand him easily.

"Victor's father won a foreign languages scholarship when we were at school together," Galina Ivanovna said, with a fondness in her voice that spoke of years of affection and comfortable familiarity. It gave Yuuri a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't know what to make of. These past few days, Yuuri suddenly seem to be hyper-aware of the couples around him. Especially the committed, long-established ones.

"Bedtime," Victor announced, draining his cup of tea and pushing his chair. "Finished, Yuuri?"

Even though it was only 7 o'clock in the evening in Barcelona, the kitchen clock showed 11pm. They both knew from long experience with jet-lag that it was better to go to bed now. Yuuri for one was certainly tired enough to sleep.

They said good-night to Victor's parents and went through to the guestroom.

"I can't find my pyjamas," Yuuri said, rummaging through his suitcase. In Barcelona he hadn't worn any, but Victor had warned him it would be much colder here, even with the heating. Finally he straightened up, pyjamas in hand, and stepped right into Victor's waiting arms.

Victor took Yuuri's face in his hands and looked closely into his eyes as though checking for something. 

"Okay?" he said.

Yuuri smiled at the caring note in his voice.

"Okay," he said honestly. This evening had gone far better than he'd been expecting. "More than okay."

Victor leant in for a quick kiss. "Good."

The quick kiss turned into a longer one, but when they broke it off Yuuri immediately yawned again.

Victor laughed. "Come on. Bed."

Yuuri rushed through his bathroom routine and fell asleep as soon as he crawled into bed, curled up tightly around Victor.

.. .. ..

"Smile, Yuuri!" Victor sang out, sliding an arm around Yuuri's shoulders and pulling him close.

Yuuri blinked. Victor snapped a photo of them both with his phone. He held it out for Yuuri's inspection.

"You look adorable, Yuuri."

They were almost unrecognizable, thick scarves swaddling their necks and chins, and fur hats with flaps pulled well down over their ears, so that only the little patch of eyes, nose and mouth was showing. It had taken Yuuri about twenty minutes to get dressed that morning, pulling on all the layers Victor had insisted he buy during their five-hour stopover in Moscow: thick socks, a thermal vest, leggings under his trousers... 

"You can't see the background," he said now, inspecting the photo critically. 

They were in the oldest part of Victor's hometown, in a street full of houses straight out of a Russian fairytale -- or a sweetshop. All ornately carved wooden gables and pretty colours.

Victor took his phone back. "Hmm, true. Okay... smile!"

Yuuri tugged his scarf down and smiled again.

"Hashtag homeinsiberia, hashtag inlove," Victor said, thumbs flying over the screen.

Yuuri watched him, smiling to himself. _#inlove_ He would never tire of the sound of it.

"Which one has hashtags again?" he wondered aloud. "Instagram or Twitter?"

Victor looked up, eyes wide. "Yuuriiiii! Both of them! How can you -- " He stopped when he saw Yuuri's smirk. "Hmm."

Yuuri laughed. "Come on, put away your phone. I want to see where you learned to skate."

They were speaking Japanese, as they had been all morning. Victor had been insisting they speak the language together since they left Barcelona.

"I don't want to lose it now that I'm not in Japan anymore," he explained.

And just how did he find the time to learn Japanese, while Yuri's Russian was still almost as bad as when he'd first downloaded that Russian app, six months ago? 

Of course Victor had had the advantage of actually living in Japan for six months. Not that Victor's Japanese was perfect, but it was certainly good enough for everyday conversation. He seemed to be one of those lucky people who had the gift of speaking rapidly and easily in a language even with no grammar and a limited vocabulary. Whereas Yuuri was in the other camp, those who refused to open their mouths until every sentence was perfect.

_I should have started learning Russian months ago_ , he thought, frowning at Cyrillic traffic signs and shopfronts as they continued down the street.

But somehow he had never in his wildest dreams imagined this. He hadn't dreamed he'd be meeting Victor's parents, not even after Victor had kissed him in front of a crowd of millions, which in hindsight had probably been a sign. Not even after they'd exchanged rings, and you couldn't get more commitment than that. But everything beyond the Grand Prix final had been a vague blur to Yuuri, something he could not even think about until the final was over.

Their sightseeing tour was more of a short brisk walk than a long ramble, as it was too cold to stay outside very long without moving. Victor's hometown was even smaller than Hasetsu, and they quickly reached the more modern, less touristic part of the city.

"That's the main bathhouse on the left," Victor said, waving at a low, cream-coloured building. 

"Oh?" Yuuri eyed the building with curiosity.

"We'll have to go some afternoon, so you can make an expert comparison to the onsen. It's pretty different, you'll see. More cold water and more birch twigs."

Yuuri's eyebrows shot up. "Cold water?" he echoed, horrified.

"Not today, we won't have time." He shot Yuuri a sideways glance. "Pity. I haven't seen you naked in over twenty-four hours now."

Yuuri looked back at him from under lowered eyelids, only blushing a tiny bit, summoning up his most flirtatious look. "All you have to do is ask."

Victor bit his lip. "Yuuri, you'll be the death of me."

Yuuri grinned, and reached up to kiss him.

They continued their walk, holding hands. Victor pointed out important buildings as they went.

Yuuri's nose felt like it was frozen solid, and he tugged his scarf up over his face, so that only his eyes were showing.

"Nearly there," Victor assured him. "Look, there's the town hall."

They had reached a large, wide-open plaza. On one side stood an official-looking 19th-century building with red-and-white brickwork and Greek-style columns.

"We'll have to find the time to go there sometime this week," Victor added. "I need to get my paperwork in order."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, and get it translated into Japanese too. That is... " He gave Yuuri a questioning look. "I've been assuming you want to do it in Hasetsu and not here. It would make more sense, I think, since most of your friends and family are there, whereas here there's only my parents. My friends are spread out all over the place and they'll have to travel anyway, so..." His voice trailed away in the face of Yuuri's puzzled look.

"Do what?" Yuuri asked.

"Get married, of course!"

"But you said... Only if I won gold in the Grand Prix Final."

Victor laughed. "We can't hold ourselves to that! We'd have to wait an entire year now. I can't possibly wait a year!"

"But -- but the paperwork! I don't even know what we'd need, and we'd have to get everything translated, and I don't know if -- " His throat was tight with mounting panic. He stared helplessly at Victor.

Victor looked back with an odd, frozen expression. "Oh." His voice was very quiet. Then he said brightly, "Okay, let's not worry about it now." He squeezed Yuuri's hand. "Come on, let's not stand around getting cold!"

On the far side of the plaza, a narrow street lead to a wrought-iron gateway, and beyond it lay a public park, its grassy spaces and tree-lined alleys now covered in snow. A few minutes' walk into the park, they came to a frozen lake full of families skating, kids playing, and teenagers shrieking and flirting.

" _Et voila!_ " Victor announced.

Yuuri forgot his previous momentary panic, charmed by the setting. "This is where you learn to skate?"

Victor nodded. He held out one hand with a flourish and bowed over it. "Shall we skate?"

They changed quickly into skates, and left their bags and shoes with the old woman sitting in a small wooden hut by the lakeside.

Victor had said temperatures were relatively mild today; that probably explained the crowds that thronged the lake. But the lake was large, and there was plenty of space to move around.

Victor must be even more well known here than Yuuri was in Hasetsu. Yuuri had already seen several posters and advertisements of him up around the town. But they were muffled up so completely in hats and scarves, like everyone else on the ice, that they were unrecognizable -- so long as they didn't start showing off triple Lutzes and quad flips.

It was still right in the middle of the figure skating season, something that Yuuri had been avoiding thinking about for the past 48 hours. Tomorrow training would start again in earnest. But today they could simply mess about on the ice, racing each other, then skating more slowly hand-in-hand, like so many other couples out on the lake today. Victor caught both Yuuri's hands and spun him around, hands clasped and arms outstretched, faster and faster, until they ran out of breath and had to stop. 

"The Swan from Carnival of the Animals," Victor suggested. It was the music to one of Yuuri's exhibition skates from a few years back when he was in Juniors, a slow dreamy piece that Victor must have learnt when going through videos of Yuuri's back catalogue.

They danced, humming the music together. Nothing spectacular, simply gliding and spinning across the ice, coming together and moving apart, in a long, slow, dreamy improvisation.

.........

That evening they Skype-called Yuuri's parents.

Yuuri had already spoken to his mother that morning, but this time everyone was in the room: Victor, Yuuri, Victor's parents, Yuuri's parents and Mira-neechan. Of course Victor had called his family regularly during the months he spent in Hasetsu, but his and Yuuri's family had never tried to interact directly before today. 

Hasetsu was only two hours ahead of the Tomsk Oblast. Yuuri could see everyone gathered around the table in the onsen's bar, squeezed close together so they'd all be visible on the webcam.

"Makkachin!" Victor exclaimed as Yuuri's mother inclined the webcam so they could see the poodle too.

Makkachin jumped up and down, barking enthusiastically and wagging his tail.

Yuuri and Victor planned to pick him up during Japanese Nationals. _In just two weeks' time_ , Yuuri thought with the usual clenching feeling in his gut that accompanied that thought.

At first everyone was shy and forgot how to speak English, and the conversation remained on the level of _Hello, how are you?_ with lots of nodding and smiling. But soon Galina Ivanovna and Otousan were exchanging notes on the public viewing of the Grand Prix Final and all of Makkachin's latest adventures.

"Looking forward to meeting you in person," Okaasan sang out as the call ended, and Galina Ivanovna and Pavel Sergeyevitch chorused back the same thing.

"Your parents are lovely people, Yura," Galina Ivanovna said after the call was ended. "And I'm so relieved they speak such good English. I thought we would have to learn some Japanese! Vitenka's father bought several phrasebooks after the Cup of China, look!"

She gestured at the kitchen fridge, on top of which several books were stacked. All the covers showed two words Yuuri recognised in Cyrillic, _Yaponski yazik_ , with brightly coloured photos of geta and koinobori. Yuuri's cheeks burned, thinking of the Nikiforovs watching him kiss their son on live TV. Though he couldn't help being touched by the idea that they'd gone straight out to buy Japanese phrasebooks afterwords.

"Time to eat," Galina Ivanovna announced.

She tidied away the laptop, while Pavel Sergeyevitch fussed over the stove and Yuuri and Victor laid the table.

As he laid out knives and forks, Yuuri turned something over in his mind. He'd noticed both of Victor's parents called him Yura, but he didn't know exactly what that meant. Not nearly as overwhelming as his mother immediately calling Victor Vicchan, he thought, but wasn't sure.

He still wasn't certain how to address the two of them, either. He thought of them as _Victor no otousan_ and _Victor no okaasan_. Victor had told him he could call them Galina Ivanovna and Pavel Sergeyevitch, which sounded perfectly correct and formal to Yuuri, even if in general he knew better than to trust Victor on the subject of formality. Maybe it would all become clear once Yuuri finally learned Russian. So in about 20 years or so.

Dinner was boiled fish, sauerkraut and beet salad.

"Vitenka said you were both back on a diet as of this evening," Galina Ivanovna announced, looking apologetic. "This reminds me of when you first started skating, Vitenka," she added. She turned to Yuuri. "He came home and announced he would only be eating carrots and cabbage from now on. That didn't last, of course, but he did lose ten kilos."

You had ten kilos to lose?" Yuuri exclaimed, glancing at Victor in surprise.

"That was before I was ever on camera, thank goodness," Victor muttered. "Before the days of home video and smartphones."

"Victor was so lucky to grow out of that," Yuuri sighed. "I wish I had."

"Genetics," Galina Ivanovna said sympathetically, shaking her head.

Speaking of genetics, Yuuri glanced at Victor's father, who'd been eating quietly all this while, following the conversation without speaking. It was funny to see someone who looked so much like Victor, and yet was so different in personality, serious and thoughtful where Victor was brash and over-the-top.

Later, while Yuuri washed the dishes and Victor dried, he asked, "How often do you come home to see your parents?"

Victor picked up another glass. "Several times a year, usually. They don't come to watch me skate, unless the competition is here in Russia, but it's only four hours' flight here from Saint Petersburg in the off-season."

"You don't usually come here during the competition season?"

"No." Victor shot him a grin. "But I don't usually have the new love of my life to show off."

Yuuri concentrated on scrubbing the red stain of beet juice off another plate, not looking at Victor. "It's almost impossible to get directly to Hasetsu from here."

Victor seemed to pick up on the strained tone in his voice. "It's not impossible," he said carefully. "Just a bit of a trek."

A day and a half's journey time, and 4 or 5 flights and trains. Yuuri had looked it up.

Victor seemed to read his thoughts. "Neither of us come from very accessible places, do we?" he said ruefully.

Yuuri looked up, smiling ruefully back. "Can't be helped."

But in the future -- if they had a future -- it was going to mean difficult decisions.

.. .. .. ..

Yuuri stretched out on the bed. He was not as exhausted as last night, and had more time to look around. He was a bit disappointed there were no posters on the walls of Victor's bedroom, just a photo of him with his parents, and another of a small poodle that looked a little like Makkachin. A childhood pet?

"Is this the apartment you grew up in?" Yuuri asked.

Victor was sitting on the bed beside him, propped up against the headboard. He'd been scrolling through something on his phone. Instagram feed, probably. He looked up. "No, my parents moved with me to Saint Petersburg to train. They moved back here later."

"It's nice here."

Victor squinted down at him, half-smiling. "You weren't expecting it to be _nice_?"

Yuuri hadn't really been expecting anything at all. He'd just been glad they were travelling somewhere together after Barcelona, and not going their separate ways.

"I was expecting... " he said slowly.

A string of ex-boyfriends, maybe. Though he guessed that didn't make much sense, if Victor was only 12 when he first went to Saint Petersburg to train. If Yuuri had thought about it, maybe he might have expected skater-parents of the more extreme kind, the ones that lived vicariously through their children and had been pushing him since the age of 5, with press cuttings and Junior trophies everywhere in the house. Instead, Victor's laid-back parents would probably have been just as happy if he'd gone to work in the tax office like his father, or the agroalimentary industry like his mother.

"I don't know. Nothing, really," he said aloud. "I like it here."

Victor laid aside his phone, and slid down the bed to lie beside Yuuri. "I'm glad." He leaned in to kiss Yuuri, warm and soft.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

It was much colder the following day. They left the house early, and headed for the rink to start training.

"It's the rink where I first competed," Victor had explained as they dressed. "A local club competition. I placed last, in case you're wondering. I'd only been skating for a few weeks, but I insisted on entering anyway."

When they arrived at the rink after a short brisk walk, Victor grabbed Yuuri's chin and examined him closely, turning his head from side to side.

Yuuri blinked. "Uh... what?" 

"Checking for frostbite," Victor said, dropping Yuuri's chin and checking his own reflection in the mirror by the entrance. Maybe it had been placed there for exactly that purpose, Yuuri thought.

The walls were plastered with posters of Victor everywhere, of course, but Yuuri was surprised to see a few of him too, with his name written in Cyrillic, as though it had been the centerfold of some Russian skating magazine or other.

The rink was standard Olympic size, with a high pointed glass-and-girders roof like a train station. It was empty, since they'd reserved the place for two hours.

After forty-five minutes out on the ice, Yuuri came back to the boards. He slipped on his skate guards and sat down to take a breather.

Victor was already wearing his own skates. On his MP3 player, he switched from Yuuri's music to something new. The strains of Ravel's Bolero filled the air.

As Yuuri watched, Victor struck out onto the ice, and glided into the opening moves of a routine Yuuri had never seen before.

It was beautiful, smooth and lyrical, full of grand gestures and drama. It was also incomplete. There were parts where Victor simply marked jumps instead of performing them, or glided along in time to the music, waiting for his next cue.

The music built to a crescendo and Victor went into a spin, low then high, whipping round in one long, seemingly infinite blur, until the music slowed and he came to a halt, one arm raised, the other outstretched towards Yuuri.

He lowered his arms and skated to the boards where Yuuri sat watching.

"What do you think? It's what I was planning last year for _this_ season."

_Amazing_ , Yuuri thought. But there was undoubtedly still a lot of work to be done on it.

"Again," he commanded, pushing Victor back out onto the ice.

As he watched Victor raise his arms in his starting position, Yuuri's only thought was that he couldn't wait to see Victor compete again. Couldn't wait to compete on the same ice as him. No matter how complicated that was going to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Five days after their arrival in St Petersburg, Yuuri and Victor had settled into a routine. Early morning practice for Yuuri at Victor's home rink in the New Holland neighbourhood, followed by Victor's own practice with Yakov, while Yuuri had ballet training, gym time or physical therapy. After lunch they skated a second time together in freestyle practice, before another gym session or run.

The early morning practice had been the easiest way to slot Yuuri into a rink schedule that was already crowded, with many of the rink's skaters preparing for upcoming Russian Nationals. It meant getting up at 4 a.m., but Yuuri was fine with that. It was like being back in the days when he had to fit skating in before school or university.

It also meant less interaction with Victor's rink-mates. Not that any of them had been overtly hostile, not even the other Yuri. Many of them even made an effort to speak English when Yuuri was around, which was really nice of them. But Yuuri didn't know what they thought of him, and he couldn't afford any emotional upsets with his own Japanese Nationals in a few weeks.

At the end of each day, they returned to Victor's apartment for an early evening meal. Usually Victor cooked -- or rather, heated up something frozen, while Yuuri puzzled over the Russian app on his phone.

Learning Russian was turning out to be a pain. He knew he could do it. He'd learnt English, after all. And growing up in the Japanese tourism industry, he hadn't been able to avoid learning basic Mandarin and Korean. The only problem was, he just didn't have the mental energy for declensions and conjugations right now.

He sank into the sofa that separated Victor's open-plan kitchen from the living area, and frowned at the screen of his phone, reciting words and sentences under his breath. The app he'd downloaded tended to use some unusual vocabulary.

" _Mne nravitsya tvoya kotelka,_ " he called out to Victor, who was in the kitchen behind him. " _Tvoi krokodil ogromen._ "

" _Moi krokodil?_ " Victor echoed, bewildered. Yuuri heard the oven door shut. "My crocodile? What the hell is that app teaching you?"

Yuuri grinned to himself. " _Tvoi kot s'yel moi noski,_ " he proclaimed. This language app really did have the weirdest sentences. " _Gde tvoi novyy aligator?_ "

Victor came round the sofa to join Yuuri. "So it's alligators now, is it?" He knelt on the sofa, pushing Yuuri's phone aside and straddling his thighs. "I love your accent." He set himself to running feather-light kisses down the tendons in Yuuri's neck.

His weight was warm and heavy on Yuuri's lap. He'd begun on Yuuri's ear now, kissing and nibbling, murmuring in Russian all the while.

"Uh... let me open up my translation app," Yuuri croaked, even though he had a pretty good idea what Victor was saying.

Victor switched back to Japanese. "It'll be another twenty minutes before dinner's ready." He drew back to look into Yuuri's face, his eyelids heavy-lidded, his smile sultry. "Think I can make you come that fast?"

Yuuri's breath caught in his throat. "Uh, I don't think that will be a problem."

By the time the alarm on the oven sounded twenty minutes later, they were in bed, floating on clouds of euphoria.

Yuuri propped himself up on one arm to look down at Victor's flushed face.

"It's weird to be having as much sex as I want," he said thoughtfully. A few seconds later his brain caught up with his mouth. He flopped back onto the bed. "I sound like a nymphomaniac."

It was true, though. When he looked back on his life till now, it was a string of long, long periods spent alone, interspersed with a boyfriend here and there, usually rinkmates or classmates, and usually in his life for such a short time that they could hardly be given the title "boyfriend".

Victor laughed softly, his hand closing around Yuuri's. "No, I know what you mean."

"Really? You must have people throwing themselves at you at competitions all the time."

"And you're trying to say you don't?"

"Uh..." He had his fair share of groupies, whom he mostly tried to avoid. "I never... and even if I had, it wouldn't have been the same."

"Yeah, turns out sex with someone you love is different," Victor said thoughtfully. "I never suspected just how much different. I can't believe I had to wait until I was almost thirty to discover that. Where have you been all my life, Katsuki Yuuri?"

Yuuri blushed. He didn't answer, but he snuggled closer to Victor, planting a quick kiss on the tip of his ear.

From the kitchen, the beeping from the oven timer became more insistent. Victor groaned. "Dinner is burning." He got up, pulling on the t-shirt Yuuri had tossed aside earlier. 

Yuuri trailed him out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. A warm, happy weight had settled in the middle of his chest. He would never tire of hearing Victor say he loved him.

.. .. .. .. .. ..

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Most nights Yuuri collapsed into bed well before midnight, muscles aching and feet complaining. Victor insisted on changing one of his jumps, putting back in the quad Lutz they'd swapped out before the Rostelecom Cup. Yuuri spent hours going over the transitions leading up to it.

Victor was training hard too. He had almost two months until his first competition, but he also had much more to work on. He was putting in even more ice time than Yuuri was.

Many people at the rink had been wondering how Victor could possibly coach and compete at the same time, particularly with Russian and Japanese Nationals taking place simultaneously. That problem, at least, had already been solved. A few days ago Victor had received the confirmation that the RSF would send him to the European Championships without his having competed in Russian Nationals. _As if that was ever in doubt,_ Yuuri thought.

Yuuri wasn't eligible for Europeans, of course, and Victor wasn't eligible for the Four Continents, which meant their first clash would be at Worlds. Assuming Yuuri made it there.

So far he'd mostly been trying to ignore what the press had to say about it all. But one day Mila came up to him in the small cafeteria attached to the sports complex where the rink was located.

"I thought this might interest you," she said, sitting down opposite him with a chicken and quinoa salad. She held out a Russian skating magazine, open on a particular article. 

It was a half-page profile of Yuuri with a short column of text and several photos. One of him alone in the middle of the rink, arms raised, in this season's free skate costume, and another of him and Victor in the kiss-and-cry, Victor's arm around him.

He studied the text more closely. He was familiar enough with the Cyrillic alphabet to be able to pick out his own name and Victor's, and the words _Chempionat Mira_. World Championships... They were already expecting him to make it to Worlds? But that was a stupid question. Of course they were. 

"Do you want me to translate it aloud for you?" Mila asked.

He shook his head quickly. "That's very kind of you but -- no."

"Oh." She looked taken aback.

He regretted having to turn down an obvious gesture of friendship, and tried to explain. "I try never to read press about myself."

Tried and failed, more like. But he certainly wasn't reading anything in the Russian press, which he knew had largely been bitter and annoyed by Victor's sudden departure for Japan.

Speaking of press, Yuuri knew he and Victor would have to hold a press conference soon. They'd both been plagued by reporters since their arrival in Saint Petersburg, and news of Victor's probable return to competition had leaked, but they were waiting until the issue of Yuuri's second coach was settled.

Later that same evening, Yuuri was sitting alone on a bench in the changing rooms, pulling on his street shoes, when Victor came in.

"Alexei will be back in Saint Petersburg tomorrow," he announced. 

Alexei Nikolaievich Sturanov was a possible candidate to be a stand-in coach for Victor when he himself was away competing. Sturanov was one of Yakov's assistant coaches, working mostly with Novices and Juniors.

"Good," Yuuri said. And it was good. He was looking forward to meeting the man.

But Victor must have picked up on the tiny note of apprehension in Yuuri's voice, because he sank to his knees in front of Yuuri. "Are you sure about this?"

Yuuri knew Sturanov had coached Victor when Yakov was sick for the whole season back in 2013-14. Victor had won World and Olympic gold that season. One point in Alexei's favour. But Yuuri knew that the success of coach/student relationships couldn't be predicted based on statistics like that. Each one was unique. Yakov himself, for instance, would be a horrific coach for Yuuri, a complete disaster.

"If you don't like him," Victor was saying, "we'll find someone else, or I won't compete this season, or -- "

"You're not withdrawing," Yuuri said firmly. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to compete on the same ice as you? I won't have Sochi Grand Prix be the only occasion that happened." 

He refused to think about the possibility that if he messed up in Japanese Nationals or the Four Continents, the JSF wouldn't even send him to Worlds. Victor would be there without him, and his heart would break.

Georgi and Stanislav came barrelling into the changing room, fresh from their own training session.

"Since when do you understand Japanese, Vitya?" Georgi demanded, wide-eyed, having caught the tail-end of their conversation.

Victor got to his feet. "I speak it too," he said smugly.

" _Sayonara_ , Katsuki Yuuri," Stanislav burst out, like he'd been saving it up for the right moment. It was nice of him, even if he probably meant _kanninichiwa_. 

Yuuri gave him a grateful smile. " _Konbanwa, Stanislav-kun._ "

They all walked out of the building together, Victor and Georgi chattering about rink gossip, the other two trailing behind.

"I really liked your free skate in Barcelona," Stanislav burst out as they stepped out into the cold night air.

"Uh... thank you," Yuuri said. It was the most graceful acknowledgement of praise he'd managed yet.

They said their goodbyes, and Victor slipped a hand into Yuuri's as they walked in the direction of his apartment. 

"I've been at the doctor's this afternoon."

Yuuri looked up sharply, alarmed. "What? Are you sick?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Doctor wasn't the right word. A psychotherapist, I meant."

"Why? For me?" Yuuri asked, confused.

Victor gave him a direct look. "No, for me. I've been a pretty poor coach to you sometimes. I don't know what to do or how to act, and a lot of that is ignorance. I should have done something about it months ago, but the thought of speaking to a psychotherapist in Japanese was daunting, to put it mildly."

"What did they say?"

"Lots of things." He scrunched up his face in a grimace. "Mostly to remember that I'm not a therapist, and I should trust you and listen to you."

Yuuri felt a sudden warmth bloom in his chest, an uncomfortable but welcome surge of gratefulness.

"That... that sounds good," he managed to say.

Victor's grasp on his hand tightened. Yuuri squeezed back, swallowing around the intensity of feelings welling up in his throat.

.. .. .. .. ..

Alexei Sturanov was already at the rink the following morning when Yuuri and Victor arrived at 6am. By arrangement, they met at the rinkside.

Alexei had been away at the Grand Prix of Bratislava with some of the Novice and Junior skaters, and Yuuri had not yet met him since his own arrival in Saint Petersburg. He was a tall, stocky man about ten years older than Victor, with a slight American accent when he spoke English. The blend of American drawl and rolling R's reminded Yuuri of Celestino.

Yuuri had looked Alexei up on the internet after Victor suggested him as a potential second coach for Yuuri. He'd had a respectable but undistinguished career as a skater, training in the US and winning a few Russian National medals before retiring in his early twenties. As a coach, he'd been vastly more successful, not that Yuuri particularly cared about that. Victor had never successfully coached anyone before Yuuri, after all.

Yuuri shot Alexei an uncertain look. He gestured at the skate bag he was carrying. "Do you want me to go through one of my routines?"

Alexei shook his head. "I've seen you skate, dozens of times. In any case, you don't need me to give you last-minute technical tips, do you?"

Yuuri shook his head dumbly. He definitely didn't need a coach messing his head up at the last minute, contradicting Victor's advice. Part of him wished he could just go to Four Continents alone. And yet he knew he need a coach, even simply for practical stuff -- someone to deal with administrative matters and the logistics of travelling and competing.

He also needed someone just to be there for him, someone to say the right thing in those crucial moments before he skated out on to the ice. Someone to sit with him in the kiss-and-cry, to share his elation or crushing disappointment. The thought of that being a near-stranger made him sick to his stomach. He pushed that thought aside, and glanced uncertainly at Alexei. If Alexei didn't want him to skate, then he had no idea how this first meeting was meant to go.

"Actually, I think we should have breakfast together, unless you've already eaten," Alexei suggested. "If you find you can't stand the sound of my voice or the sight of my face, you'll know this won't work." He gave Yuuri a small smile, as calm and poised as the rest of his personality.

Yuuri blinked. "Okay."

The cafeteria was almost empty at this early hour. Yuuri, Victor and Alexei took a table by the window. They were on the second floor, and below, the Saint Petersburg streets were starting to fill with early morning rush-hour traffic, the overnight snowfall turning to slush beneath the tyres of cars and vans.

Alexei didn't talk about skating at first. Instead, he asked Yuuri about the years he'd spent in Detroit, and how he'd liked it. Alexei had trained in Philadelphia, and had been to Detroit a handful of times. Yuuri was able to relax somewhat as they chatted about the easy topics of how winters in Detroit compared to winters in Saint Petersburg, and how much of a culture shock Americans' propensity for small talk was.

The conversation came around to training schedules, and in particular to Yuuri's current training schedule.

"What are your plans for the rest of this season?" Alexei asked. "As I understand it, you plan to compete in Japanese Nationals, the Four Continents, and Worlds."

Yuuri nodded. He hadn't announced that officially in a press conference yet, but that had been his and Victor's tacit decision.

"Why do you want to compete at Four Continents?" Alexei asked.

Yuuri stared down at his granola and yoghurt bowl. He had considered asking the JSF not to send him to Four Continents. It wasn't an essential step on the way to Worlds, and it would make things easier on him and Victor, eliminating the conflict with the Europeans Championships a few days later. 

He glanced up at Alexei. "You think I shouldn't?" 

"If I were your coach, I would say you should. But I want to know why _you_ want to compete."

Yuuri hesitated. There were so many possible answers. Some days he saw it as a sort of insurance policy. A chance to medal, in case he didn't make it to Worlds. Other days he was certain he would make it to Worlds, and Four Continents seemed like an important trial run.

It all depended on how Japanese Nationals went. That was the ever-present storm cloud looming overhead, last year's disaster never far from his mind.

 _For the moment I haven't even qualified for Four Continents yet,_ he thought. He swallowed. If he bombed Nationals, the question would be moot.

He could almost hear Victor's voice in his head. _I believe in you, even when you don't believe in yourself._ But Alexei wouldn't be like that. He didn't know Yuuri. How could he believe in Yuuri, if Yuuri didn't believe in himself first?

"Because I want to win," he said quietly.

Alexei nodded, as though that were perfectly reasonable. "You're aiming for gold, of course?"

Yuuri glanced sideways at Victor, who was sitting quietly with his chin propped on his fist, smiling at Yuuri.

Yuuri turned back to Alexei. "Yes."

"Same ambition for Worlds?"

Yuuri swallowed. Victor would be on the ice there, unlike at Four Continents. That was the whole point, in fact. "Yes. Even more so."

Beside him, Victor let out a small, happy sigh.

"Good." Alexei nodded briskly. "Anything less would be a waste of your talent, in my opinion. But it's your season, and no one else can set your ambitions for you. So what have you planned in terms of training schedule?"

They spoke about the schedule Victor had planned out, and the changes Yuuri intended to make compared to his Grand Prix routines.

After another quarter of an hour, Alexei glanced at his watch. "I've got a session with one of the Novices in ten minutes, so I'd better leave you now." He rose to his feet. "Let me know what you decide, Yuuri. If you want to take me on, I should sit in on some practice sessions with Victor as an observer."

Yuuri gulped. "You, uh -- it's okay for you?"

Alexei gave him his small, calm smile. "That was never in doubt, Yuuri. As though I would turn down the chance to work with the next World Champion, even on a temporary basis."

He headed towards the cafeteria exit, leaving the two of them alone.

Victor turned to Yuuri. "Well?"

Yuuri felt much less stressed than he had expected to when he woke up this morning. Alexei had been right about bringing them here instead of having Yuuri skate.

He nodded. "Yes." He felt his face break into a smile. "Yes, I think it will work."

.. .. ..

The following morning they called the press conference. Alexei, Yakov, Victor and Yuuri, all lined up at the same table. Victor read out a statement in English -- they'd all agreed on the wording together beforehand -- and then the floor was opened for questions.

The first few questions were all directed at Victor. Almost everything was in Russian, and Alexei sat beside Yuuri to interpret the questions and Victor's answers for him as Victor spoke.

_How do you feel your coaching career has gone so far?_

_What made you decide to return to competitive skating?_

_Is it true that you will be coaching Yuuri Katsuki and competing against him at the same time?_

_Aren't Russian and Japanese Nationals at the same time this year?_

After several questions for Victor, it was Yuuri's turn in the spotlight. The first question came from a journalist who introduced himself as being from Russia's top skating magazine.

He spoke in English. "What we all want to know is... so when is the wedding?"

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. It was friendly laughter, a bit prurient but not scornful, but it still made Yuuri uncomfortable. He blinked, frozen, unable to come up with an answer. Beside him, Victor seemed frozen in place too.

Alexei said lightly, "Isn't this a sports press conference, not Secrets of the Stars?" 

"Next question," Yakov snapped. 

The journalist shrugged, and sank back down into his seat.

Yuuri was relieved. But he was also annoyed, even angry. Why did he get that question first, instead of something about his upcoming season?

Another journalist was asking her question now. It was about the routine Victor had choreographed for Yuuri, a sensible and well-thought-out question that Yuuri had no trouble answering. The rest of the conference was unremarkable, but Yuuri still had a flame of anger burning inside.

As soon as the press conference came to an end, Yuuri hurried from the room, leaving Victor, Yakov and Alexei behind. He and Victor both had physiotherapist appointments next, and he headed for the locker room to get his belongings and change into street clothes.

Victor caught up with Yuuri at the locker room door. As they pulled on their coats, he glanced sideways at Yuuri. "You okay? You're very quiet."

Yuuri yanked up the zip of his jacket. "I don't want to be Victor Nikiforov's husband," he burst out, frustrated.

Victor winced.

Yuuri winced too when he realised what he'd said. "No, I mean... I mean I don't want to be only that. I don't want to be _defined_ by that."

"You're not! You're a Grand Prix medallist, an international world-class athlete in your own right."

"I know," said Yuuri, because he had sort of, finally, accepted that... or at least it wasn't something he wanted to argue about right now. "But we're in Russia now. You're a national hero."

Instead of arguing, Victor remained silent for a moment. "Maybe we made a stupid decision," he said finally. "Maybe we should have gone back to Japan. I mean, that would have made just as much sense and been just as -- "

Yuuri cut him off. "No, no, no, no! That's not what I meant! Obviously we should be in Russia. If you're going to compete you need a coach too, and in Japan you have no one. And you already spent almost a year in Japan for absolutely no reason -- "

"I like Japan," Victor said stubbornly. He sighed and run a hand back through his hair in frustration. "But we're getting off topic. The topic was -- "

Yuuri cut him off. "That it's already 11:45 and we were due at the physiotherapist ten minutes ago."

Victor swore. He grabbed his carryall. "Okay. But we have to finish this conversation sometime soon."

Yuuri nodded, privately hoping the subject never came up again.


	3. Chapter 3

Victor watched Yuuri's short program with the same feeling in his throat he always had, like his heart was trying to flutter up and fly away. Also like he wanted to jump Yuuri's bones, of course, but that was somehow secondary.

For Victor, Yuuri would always embody seduction. Today, however, Yuuri needed to seduce the jury too. At the arena where Japanese Nationals were taking place this year, Victor leant on the boards, his gaze fixed on Yuuri as he went into a camel spin on the ice, arms tucked behind his back. So far, technically speaking, his performance was acceptable but not perfect. Victor winced, seeing Yuuri stumble on the quad Salchow he always nailed in practice.

His next few jumps were slightly under-rotated. Mentally calculating GOEs, Victor's heart sank.

What was happening? Victor didn't know. Yuuri had seemed to be in a good place mentally. Victor had hoped Japanese Nationals would be easier for him, being away from the media circus that came with being in the shadow of Victor Nikiforov in Russia. But being here in his homeland brought its own set of pressures for Yuuri.

The music came to an end. Yuuri stood poised in the centre of the rink, his arms wrapped around his body. He bowed and waved to the cheering crowd, then came skating across the ice to Victor.

"You were beautiful," Victor said honestly, catching Yuuri in his arms at the rinkside.

Yuuri was still trembling from effort and nerves. He looked up at Victor, his expression open and vulnerable.

Victor ran a caressing hand down his cheek. "Beautiful," he said again.

Yuuri shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. His eyelids flickered, his gaze dropping, and Victor could read disappointment and frustration on his face.

Victor swallowed around the lump in his own throat, and took Yuuri's hand, tugging him towards the kiss and cry to wait for his score.

It left Yuuri in fourth place going into the free skate. If he didn't even make the podium tomorrow --- but there was no point thinking like that.

Yuuri was quiet during the short walk back to the hotel. Victor didn't push him to speak. He had plenty to occupy him, looking around at the city as they walked.

Japanese Nationals were in Osaka that year. It was Victor's first visit to the city, and today he was far more aware of his surroundings than he usually was in the many unfamiliar cities he visited.

It wasn't his first time spending time in a major Japanese city. He'd been assigned to the NHK Trophy several times during his career, not to mention being in Tokyo last year for Worlds. He'd already had a particular interest in Japan at that point, only a few months after the Grand Prix Final where Yuuri had caught his eye and snagged his heart. He remembered the bitter disappointment he'd felt when he'd learnt Katsuki Yuuri wouldn't be competing in Tokyo.

Today, however, he looked around Osaka with different eyes. Now he wanted to absorb and experience everything about Japan, from the smallest hot spring tourist resort to its largest cities. This was the country where he might end up spending the rest of his life.

"You want to eat out?" Yuuri asked, startling him.

"Do you?" 

Yuuri shrugged, which Victor was pretty sure meant _no_.

"Then let's just have dinner in the hotel restaurant."

In their room, as they got ready to go down to dinner, Yuuri was still quiet and distracted.

Victor sat on the bed and watched Yuuri stand staring at his open suitcase, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket, his expresion shuttered, his mouth twisted in an unhappy line. After a moment Yuuri looked up and caught Victor's eye. He grimaced.

"You're worrying about me, aren't you?"

Victor gave him a smile he didn't completely feel. "It's my job."

"Stop it." Yuuri held out a hand. When Victor took it, Yuuri pulled him to his feet and then into an embrace. "Don't stress," he said into Victor's ear.

_But you are,_ Victor wanted to say. _So how can I not?_

They kissed, soft and gentle, and then Yuuri broke away.

"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," he said, his voice determinedly cheerful.

Downstairs, the hotel restaurant was full of other people from the competition. Victor spent most of the time at dinner watching Yuuri, who seemed relaxed, chatting away to the two other skaters they were sharing their table with. But what was going on inside his head? What kind of mental headspace was he in? Victor desperately needed some sort of X-ray vision for seeing into Yuuri's head. Sometimes he thought the lack of it would drive him crazy.

_I love you,_ he thought. _I want to give you everything. I want to know everything about you._

He was afraid to push too hard. He knew he could be overwhelming, and Yuuri reacted like a startled deer every time Victor came on too strong.

It had been amazing, something indefinably precious, seeing Yuuri open up to him over the past few months, but Victor wanted more. He wanted everything. For a while, in Barcelona, it had seemed to be within his grasp, but now it was slipping away again.

He realized his hand had gone unconsciously to his ring, twisting it round and round. He stopped, but left his fingers on it, feeling the warm metal press into his skin. He had decided he should cool off on commitment and marriage for the moment. There'd be time for that later, after the season was over.

"Apparently you speak Japanese?" a voice said at his elbow in English.

Victor turned to see George Romeio, the Canadian coach of one of the ice dance pairs. He'd taken the vacant seat on Victor's left.

"I've been over here coaching for a year now, and I still don't speak a word," Romeio added. "You gotta tell me how you do it."

"Japanese-speaking lover," Victor said. "Or rather, Japanese-speaking in-laws who don't always speak English very well. That's the secret."

Romeio chuckled. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Victor didn't know Romeio all that well, but he was slowly getting used to the idea that he was now supposed to be gossiping with the coaches, rather than with the skaters. As the meal moved on to tea and miso soup, Romeio chatted about the sightseeing he'd been doing here in Osaka. Victor kept up his end of the conversation, one eye on Yuuri, who had stopped talking and was staring down into his food.

Victor frowned. _What's going on inside your head, Yuuri?_

After dinner, they went back up to their room by wordless agreement. Victor stepped into the bathroom for a minute. When he came out, Yuuri was already curled up in bed, MP3 player in his fist and headphones in his ears.

"You should go back downstairs," he said, smiling up at Victor from his nest in the duvet. "I know you want to hang out with people."

That was true. Victor already knew plenty of people in the Japanese figure-skating world. By the end of the first day of the Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu Championship -- his first competition as Yuuri's coach -- he'd already had more Japanese skater friends on social media than Yuuri had amassed in a lifetime. 

Victor shook his head, not wanting to leave Yuuri alone.

"Really, Victor. I just want to curl up here alone and zone out."

"But -- " Victor began, frowning.

Yuuri gave him a direct look. "I'm not shutting you out. I promise. But I want to be alone for a while."

Victor remembered what the therapist had said about letting people choose their own way of dealing with things. He bit his lip, undecided.

Yuuri played his trump card. "Besides, I know you want to watch Yuri's short program, and you can't do that here. Not unless you plan to violate your own no-screens policy."

Victor had to laugh out loud at that. It was true. He wanted to watch Yuri Plisetsky and the others at Russian nationals. This year they were in Yekaterinburg, six hours behind Japanese time. Yuri's short program was starting soon. And yet on the other hand Victor had forbidden Yuuri from trawling through social media comments the night before competing, given how bad it had been for his mental headspace in the past. And for good measure he'd extended it to a complete ban on phone usage.

He sighed. "All right. I'll be in the hotel bar."

"I'll call you if I need you," Yuuri promised. He raised his head for a kiss.

Downstairs, Victor found a quiet corner of the bar and settled in with his phone and a cup of tea to watch the competition. He was just in time. Yuri was gliding out onto the ice.

On the tiny screen of his phone, Victor watched Yuri take first place. He grinned, and shot off a quick congratulatory text message. Yuri would be unbearable when they got back to Saint Petersburg.

"Nikiforov-san!" someone called.

Victor looked up to see a tall, handsome man standing by his table, smiling at him.

"I'm an old friend of Yuuri-kun's. Yamaguchi." He held out his hand to shake, Western style.

Victor recognised him as one of the assistant coaches from the rink that had produced yesterday's junior men's gold medalist. He'd been competing at the same time as Yuuri, but had retired young.

"Pleased to meet you!" Victor exclaimed, always intrigued by anything and anyone from Yuuri's past. "So you know Yuuri well?"

"We were pretty close once, but I haven't seen much of him since he moved to the US. I just wanted to say congratulations." He gestured at the ring on Victor's hand where it lay on the table.

Victor beamed. "Thank you."

"Yuuri always looks so happy when he is with you."

Another coach appeared at Yamaguchi's shoulder. " _Konbanwa, Nikiforov-san! Omedetou gozaimasu!_ "

This time the congratulations were for Yuuri's Grand Prix silver medal.

"Would you like to sit down?" Victor said politely.

They ended up chatting for almost an hour. Victor kept an eye on his phone, but Yuuri didn't call or text. Half of him longed to head straight up to the room and check on Yuuri, but he'd promised to give him space.

When Victor finally left the bar later that evening, he was in a good mood, buzzed from conversation and a few glasses of wine. He wanted to run up to their room, throw himself on Yuuri's bed and kiss him senseless. That would be a very stupid idea, he told himself as the elevator rose up through the building.

He crept into the hotel room. Yuuri was fast asleep, curled up in a ball under the covers. Victor stood staring down at him, his heart in his mouth. He no longer wanted to throw himself on Yuuri and kiss him senseless. He just wanted to curl up beside him and shield him from the world.

He shook himself. He needed to get to sleep too. Good thing he'd insisted on two separate beds, so he could creep into one now without waking Yuuri.

He fell asleep with the sound of Yuuri's free skate music running through his head.

.......

Yuuri sat on a bench by the rinkside, looking pale and sick.

He hadn't tried anything fancy during the practice skate, as per Victor's orders. Now he was just waiting to go on the ice. He didn't seem to be panicking, Victor thought, watching him anxiously. Was he just on the edge of it?

Victor didn't know what to say. Why was he so bad at this? No matter how many competitions they attended together, he didn't seem to get any better. Was he worse than Yuuri's previous coaches? Had they known what to do? Did anyone?

_Maybe I should make you cry again,_ he thought desperately. 

Instead, he sat down beside Yuuri, not too close, facing forward and not forcing anything from Yuuri.

To his relief, Yuuri turned towards him, catching his eye.

"Tell me I can do this," he said.

"I know you can do this." Everything spilled out of him, everything he had been holding back, not knowing whether it would create more pressure on Yuuri and make him feel worse. "You're the Men's Free Skate world record holder. You're the best skater in this building by far. I can't wait to watch you."

Yuuri's name was being called over the tannoy system.

He stepped out onto the ice, then came to the boards for a final word with Victor. There was nothing flirtatious in him this time, and Victor didn't try to kiss him or hold his hand.

"I believe in you," he said softly.

Yuuri swallowed. "So do I."

Victor didn't know whether that was true or not, but maybe it would be enough.

Yuuri stepped away from him and glided out to the centre of the ice, taking Victor's heart with him.

An hour later, he was standing on the podium, the gold medal around his neck. Victor closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the free skate again. Yuuri had been perfect. Lyrical, easy, smooth. The way he skated when he was alone.

Victor would have liked to hide away and watch the video again and again, instead of having to make small talk at the banquet with sponsors and JSF officials. It was times like this that he wished he hadn't learned Japanese. Then he would have been excused half of these conversations.

He was finally released from the clutches of Yuuri's delighted sportswear sponsor, and by a rare stroke of luck managed to catch Yuuri alone too.

"You were amazing," Victor said in his ear.

Yuuri smiled. He looked good, relaxed, accepting and enjoying his win.

"I know."

As Victor squeezed Yuuri's shoulders, he spotted a familiar face from last night. "Hey, there's Yamaguchi-san."

Yuuri turned in the direction he'd indicated. "You know Yamaguchi Renzo?" Yuuri squawked, his voice going up an octave.

"We chatted in the bar the night before the free skate."

Yuuri groaned.

"Why, what's the matter? He seemed really nice."

Yuuri turned away to grab a glass of champagne, muttering something that sounded like _first kiss_.

"Oh, really?" Victor swiveled to take a closer look. "I would have had _so_ many more questions for him if I'd known."

Yuuri was too busy drinking champagne to answer.

"Any other ex-boyfriends here?" Victor teased.

Yuuri blushed harder. "He wasn't a boyfriend!"

"Uh huh," said Victor, remembering his "no comment" about ex-boyfriends and girlfriends. He was wildly curious, but he knew he'd just have to wait until Yuuri was willing to talk about it. Like maybe when they were both over 90 years old.

"Katsuki-san!" a voice said politely. "Nikiforov-san."

It was one of the JSF officials, who wanted to talk about Four Continents. He was soon joined by the coach of today's men's silver medallist, who wanted to schedule a joint photo-shoot with Yuuri for a sponsorship deal.

As they discussed the details with Victor, Yuuri himself slipped away. When Victor looked around the room half an hour later, Yuuri was nowhere in sight.

Victor found him out in the hotel lobby, his phone to his ear. From the snatches of conversation Victor could hear, he seemed to be speaking to his mother.

"Say hello from me," Victor mouthed.

Yuuri did so, and then held out the phone. "She wants to speak to you."

"Vicchan! How are you?"

"Wasn't Yuuri wonderful?" 

He could hear her pride in her voice when she answered. "Yes! Of course! But you'll have to find a new site for your mother to watch figure skating online," she added.

"You've been speaking to my mother?" Victor said faintly.

"Of course! We speak all the time. Your father too."

Victor's eyebrows shot up. He hadn't been expecting that. Also, he wondered how that worked. He knew Hiroko-san's English vocabulary was mostly limited to the tourist trade, but neither woman was the type to let that put them off.

"She wanted to know where she could watch Japanese Nationals live online," okaasan was saying. "Her usual live-streaming site only covers competitions where Russian skaters are competing. We didn't want to bother you two, but Yuuchan managed to send her a working link."

"Um, great," Victor managed, at once overwhelmed and touched by the thought of his worlds colliding.

"I'll let you boys get on with your evening. I'm sure you have celebrations to attend. Just put Yuuri back on for a moment, would you please?"

Victor handed back the phone and sat down in one of the hotel lobby armchairs. Okaasan was apparently best friends with his mama.

Tomorrow was his birthday. Yuuri had won gold. Everything was right with the world. 

He let himself slump into the comfy armchair, relaxing for the first time since waking up that morning. The television in the corner of the lobby displayed something about Santa Claus in Times Square. Victor remembered today was Christmas Eve in the Western world. 

On the far side of the lobby, talk and laughter drifted through the double doors from the banquet room. A steady trickle of people were leaving the room, and Victor started to wonder whether he and Yuuri could justifiably slip away.

"Victor," Yuuri said at his elbow. He perched on the arm of Victor's chair, his phone now stowed in his pocket.

"Hmm?"

"It's your birthday tomorrow."

True. He'd be 28 years old.

"And I know you don't celebrate birthdays ahead of time in Russia, so I won't give you your present. But we'll be traveling most of the day tomorrow. Is there something you'd like to do tonight?

Victor raised an eyebrow, letting Yuuri see the heat in his eyes. "Besides the obvious?"

Yuuri grinned, but didn't yield. "Before going back to our room," he clarified. 

"In that case... " He paused for a moment to think." I'd like to go out dancing. Clubbing, I mean."

He wasn't sure what Yuuri would make of that. They had never been out on the town together before, though it was something Victor often used to do after previous competitions with Chris and other skaters.

But Yuuri was still grinning. "I thought you might say that. I don't really know the Osaka nightlife, but I got some advice from Renzo-kun. I know a place we can go."

Yuuri had been planning this, had guessed what he might like to do and organised it in advance. Victor was touched.

"Okay." He jumped to his feet. "As soon as you like!"

The club recommended by Yamaguchi turned out to be a trendy, downtown establishment. They had a drink at the bar, sitting close together facing the dance floor. It was crowded with couples and groups, queer and straight, dancing with abandon. The music was a mixture of J-pop and international hits.

Yuuri and Victor had already danced together on ice, and also at the Grand Prix Final banquet two years running, although Victor knew Yuuri didn't count the first one. But they'd never danced like this, in a dark, hot, crowded club, the deep, pounding beat of the music thrumming through their bodies.

Victor bent to speak in Yuuri's ear over the music and noise. "Want to dance?"

Yuuri smiled. "Okay."

They finished their drinks and plunged into the crowd on the dance floor, holding hands tightly so as not to lose each other in the crowd.

Victor wanted to try something. He had noticed Yuuri was a bit of an exhibitionist. He'd suspected as much when he saw him pole dancing after the Grand Prix Final, and his suspicions had been confirmed when he saw Yuuri skate Eros. He would never have kissed him in front of a televised audience if he had thought Yuuri wouldn't want it. 

He knew it was something Yuuri would not be comfortable discussing -- would maybe never want to discuss. Still, that didn't mean Victor couldn't do something about it. This seemed like the perfect place. They were in public, on display, but not necessarily the centre of attention. And Yuuri was comfortably buzzed without being drunk.

He leaned close and murmured in Yuuri's ear, "Want to put on a show?"

Yuuri's eyes widened. 

Victor shot him a smirk. "I want everyone to see I'm yours."

Instead of answering, Yuuri pulled Victor closer, arms wrapped loosely around Victor's neck.

They fit together perfectly, bodies moving in sync, hips thrusting, shoulders swaying in time to the music's heady beat. They still wore their smart clothes from the banquet, ties gone, shirt collars unbuttoned. Did Yuuri have any idea how sexy he was like this?

"We look good together," Victor murmured in his ear.

Yuuri grinned. He loosened his hold on Victor's shoulders and slid down Victor's body, hips swaying, thighs flexing as he moved in time to the music, then shimmied back up again just as slowly, a tantalizing brush along Victor's body.

They swung apart, then together again, both hands clasped, Victor mirroring Yuuri's moves as he danced across the floor.

Victor let his hands fall to Yuuri's waist and shifted his weight onto his back foot. Yuuri caught the movement, and jumped as Victor lifted him, swinging him up into the air, hands firm on Yuuri's waist, keeping him close because of the limited space. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Yuuri flushed and breathless, laughing down at him, his face appearing and disappearing as the flashing lights broke the darkness on the dance floor.

The other dancers gave them room, and Victor swung Yuuri back down and then tossed him straight up into the air, just a half-spin. Yuuri landed with his back to Victor and leaned back into him, giving a little wriggle that had Victor biting his lip to keep from moaning. He slid his arms around Yuuri from behind, and bent his head to mouth at Yuuri's neck as their hips ground together, the beat of the music thrumming through them.

When the music changed to something slow and sensuous, the singer's deep voice crooning in Japanese, Yuuri turned in Victor's arms and pulled him close. They swayed together, arms wrapped around each other, forgetting the rest of the world.

Later, back at the hotel, Yuuri kissed him in the elevator on the way up to their hotel room, pressing even closer than he had on the dance floor.

"You drove me crazy tonight," Victor murmured against his lips.

Yuuri blushed, but he looked pleased. "I had a good time. Did you?"

"Mmm. I'll say I did."

He leaned forward, capturing Yuuri's mouth again, until the elevator doors slid open, and they were forced to break apart.

Their hotel room was at the far end of the corridor. Victor let Yuuri fumble with the key card, while he distracted him by peppering kisses on his cheeks and neck.

Inside, Yuuri pushed him down onto the bed and crawled on top of him. Yuuri's eyes were dark and hooded in the soft light from the bedside lamp. He'd slicked back his hair for the banquet, but it had fallen forward long since, while they were dancing at the club, and it lay sweat-slick across his forehead. Victor reached for him.

"Lie still," Yuuri ordered.

Victor lay back, heat pooling in his stomach. He liked Yuuri bossing him around in bed, and Yuuri knew it.

He was already hard, thighs trembling as Yuuri's fingers brushed down his flanks and tugged at his zipper. He had to fight not to thrust up into Yuuri's touch.

When Yuuri's mouth closed around him, however, he couldn't help but move. He closed his eyes, revelling in the warm, wet tightness of Yuuri's mouth, tension building inside him until he was gasping.

"Wait," he choked out.

Yuuri drew back, swiping a hand across his mouth. His lips were red and glistening. "Too much?"

"You're not even undressed yet!"

Yuuri grinned and rolled off the bed, letting Victor up. Victor quickly shed his clothes, watching Yuuri wriggle out of his. They lay down together again, and Victor set himself to the task of exploring Yuuri's naked body, running his fingertips over every inch, making Yuuri moan and grind against him like he'd been desperate to do at the club.

It felt so perfect. So simple. Yuuri writhing against him, clutching his shoulders and gasping Victor's name in his ear. Could it always be this simple? Victor thought his heart would explode with it.

Afterwards, lying cuddled together in bed, Victor felt Yuuri's hand slip into his. Yuuri squeezed tight.

They lay in comfortable silence, their breathing slowly returning to normal.

Yuuri said softly, "I'm sorry if you felt I was shutting you out. Last night and this morning, I mean."

Victor raised his head, surprised. Yuuri was looking at him with trepidation in his eyes.

"It's okay," Victor said with a reassuring smile.

"Maybe, but it wasn't okay at the time, was it? You didn't like it."

Victor took a deep breath, not sure what to say. "Sometimes it makes me mad," he said finally, slowly, carefully, "not knowing what's going on inside your head. But I know forcing you to talk about it is the wrong thing to do."

"Does that -- Can you -- " Yuuri glanced away. He was biting his lip, his eyes scrunched up in apprehension. "Do you think you can live with that? I'll try -- "

"No! Yuuri. I don't want to change you." He grabbed Yuuri's shoulder. "And of course I can live with that. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Yuuri's head jerked sharply back to look at Victor. His eyes were round and wide.

Victor winced internally. So much for cooling off on the commitment and marriage side of things. But it was important that Yuuri know this.

But then Yuuri's face softened. "Good, because so do I."

Victor couldn't speak around the sudden lump in his throat. He blinked at Yuuri, and realised that Yuuri was staring at him, starting to look worried. 

"Victor?"

Victor beamed at him, blinking hard. "I'm happy, Yuuri." He tightened his grip on Yuuri's shoulder and tugged him into a kiss, pouring all his love and happiness into it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I switched the order of Europeans and Four Continents to suit the story better.

Victor straightened up from tying his shoes and glanced around the locker room. Yuuri was talking to Stanislav and Yuri in halting Russian. It sounded like a discussion about Stanislav's short program.

Victor pulled on the sweater that had been his birthday present from Yuuri's parents and shrugged on his jacket over it. He stepped out into the corridor and dialled his parents' home number. His father picked up.

"Vitenka. How are you?" It sounded like he was in the middle of dinner. 

"Tired," Victor said truthfully. That was something he didn't want to admit to anyone else, not even Yuuri. Especially not Yuuri.

He was exhausted. He felt like he was working twice as hard as usual, even if coaching wasn't as physically demanding as training.

His father hummed thoughtfully. He had never pushed Victor nor held him back, just supported him quietly. 

"You knew it would be hard," he pointed out. "But it's what you chose to do anyway." The unspoken corollary to that being: you can also choose to stop.

"I want this, Papa," Victor said. "I want it all." 

Competing on the same ice as Yuuri, winning gold again, having Yuuri win gold. Having him forever. Knowing Yuuri wanted that too.

Victor swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Is Mama at sculpture club tonight?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes." Down the phone line came the sound of china and cutlery clinking as Papa put his plate in the sink. "I don't suppose you'll be home for New Year's?"

January 1st was in two days time, so the question was purely rhetorical.

Victor usually did make it home for New Year's Eve, even though it was smack bang in the middle of the skating season, but this year it would be impossible. He and Yuuri were stretched thin as it was. Also, part of him didn't want to see Yuuri in such a family-centric, domestic setting again. Not when he wasn't sure if what they had was going to last. Not when he still wasn't sure what Yuuri wanted.

"No. Sorry, Papa."

"There'll be other years," Papa said comfortably. "Now, about your Yura... I don't suppose he celebrates New Year's with presents -- not according to Google, at least -- but we were thinking of getting him a present all the same. Would that be okay, do you think?"

Victor smiled to think of his father diligently Googling Japanese gift giving traditions.

"I think he'd like that," he answered, remembering Yuuri once mentioning that he and Phichit used to exchange Christmas gifts when they were living in the States.

"Vitya!" It was Yakov, bearing down the corridor towards him.

"I have to go," Victor said into his phone. "Tell Mama I'll call again tomorrow, will you?" He hung up as Yakov reached him.

"Vitya," Yakov snapped. "I've booked you time on the jump harness first thing tomorrow morning. Your quad lutz was sloppy today."

Victor wrinkled his nose, but couldn't deny it. His only excuse was the exhaustion that pervaded his body.

Once he'd finished talking with Yakov, he pulled out his phone to call Yuuri, who was probably ready to leave the sports complex by now too.

As he crossed the entrance foyer, he ran into a group of the same skaters who'd been in the locker room: Yuri Plisetsky, Georgi, Stanislav and several others. Yuuri wasn't among them. Victor waved goodbye to them absently, his attention on the SMS he'd just received from Yuuri.

_Don't wait for me. I've already left. See you at home._

A small knot of uneasiness formed in the pit of Victor's stomach. He shook it off, settled his sports bag over his shoulder, and set off alone on the short walk back to his apartment.

His path took him through the Alexander Garden. At this time of evening, in the depths of winter, not many people were around. As he cut straight across the park, he caught sight of a familiar figure, sitting on a bench on a deserted side path.

Yuuri's head was bent, his hands laced together on his knees.

As Victor watched, Yuuri raised his head to stare out across the snow-covered flower beds and statues. He sat in the shadows, a few metres from the nearest lamppost, turned slightly away, and Victor couldn't make out the expression on his face. His shoulders were hunched, his posture rigid, tension distorting the lines of his body.

Victor hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to run to Yuuri and throw his arms around him. But he knew Yuuri sometimes needed space. Alone time, as he called it. Probably he needed it a lot more often than he got it, Victor thought uneasily.

Victor knew he was clingy, and Yuuri... was not. Did that mean they were fundamentally incompatible? Most of the time Victor didn't think so, because how could they be, when they loved each other so much? The universe couldn't be so cruel.

He gripped his bag more tightly, ignoring the lump in his throat, and kept walking. Yuuri would come home when he was ready.

.. .. ..

They spent New Year's Eve curled up on the sofa at home. Victor had been invited to many, many New Year's parties, from fancy five-star hotel bashes with models and film stars, to intimate gatherings with old school friends, but he didn't want to overwhelm Yuuri, who still spoke very little Russian. Also, he wanted them both to rest.

They ate Thai takeaway and watched cheesy movies on TV. Victor watched Zhenya Lukashin stumble drunkenly into the life of his one true love, and grinned to himself. Maybe there was something to be said for finding love while drunk. 

When Yuuri fell asleep, Victor muted the TV and dozed off in front of a movie he knew by heart. He woke up just in time for the chimes on the Kremlin's Spasskaya Tower.

Yuuri stirred, disturbed by the sound from the TV. "What..."

Victor sprang to his feet. "Champagne!"

This was one New Year's tradition he couldn't do without this year. Not when he hoped he was looking forward to the happiest year of his life so far -- even if the year just ending would be difficult to beat.

He managed to get the bottle opened and two glasses poured before the clock had stopped chiming.

Yuuri took a glass. His eyes were still scrunched up and puffy from sleeping, his cheek marked with red lines from the sofa cushions. He grinned at Victor, eyes soft and sparkling.

"To us!" Victor held up his glass too. "Quick, make a wish." 

"Uh... " Yuuri blinked at him. "I dunno. I just want to be with you and be happy."

Victor felt an unexpected prickling in his eyes, warmth and happiness bubbling up inside him like the champagne in his glass.

"I want that too," he said softly.

They clinked glasses.

Yuuri looked at his champagne doubtfully. "Uh... do I have to down it in one go?"

Victor laughed. "Only if you want to."

Once they'd both drunk, Victor pulled him in for a kiss, long and slow.

His phone began to ring. He put it on loudspeaker so Yuuri could hear too.

"Mama, Papa," he said happily, his arm still around Yuuri. " _S novom godom!_ "

In the background he could hear music and laughter. It was already four in the morning in the Tomsk Oblast, but of course the party was still well underway. 

" _S novom godom, Vitenka! S novom godom, Yura!_ "

The phone reception wasn't great, probably due to network overload, and they had to keep the conversation short.

"Presents!" Victor exclaimed as soon as they'd hung up.

He hurried towards his little green New Year's tree in the corner. Yuuri had helped him put it up when they got back from Japan a few days ago. Some time earlier today, a shiny green gift-wrapped package had appeared, to join the present Victor had placed there for Yuuri.

Now, Yuuri sat down on the floor beside the tree. "You first," he said, handing Victor the green parcel.

Victor dropped to the floor beside him, brimming over with excitement. Their first New Year's Eve together, and many more to come, he hoped.

Yuuri had included a small card with his gift, written in careful printed Cyrillic characters. _To my Vityusha. Happy New Year._ Victor clutched it to his heart.

"I'm putting this in my wallet," he declared.

"That's not the present," Yuuri said, mock-annoyed. "Open the present."

Victor ripped off the gift-wrap to reveal a photograph of Makkachin, Yuuri and Victor, sitting in front of the onsen. The frame was covered in washi paper printed with a delicate blue and grey motif that reminded Victor of the skies over the beach in Hasetsu.

He ran a finger along the paper. "Did you buy this before we left Japan?"

Yuuri nodded, smiling. "I've been waiting for the right moment to give it to you."

Victor reached out and gathered Yuuri to him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Go on, open yours now," he said when they broke apart.

He was looking forward to admiring his gift for Yuuri, modelled by Yuuri himself: soft brown leather gloves because he knew Yuuri felt the cold, with special tips so he could still use his phone, and a cozy cashmere scarf in shades of brown and beige.

Yuuri grinned. "No more ratty old hoodies and ragged fingerless gloves for me."

"Do you like them?" Victor asked anxiously.

Yuuri nodded, still smiling. "I love them, Victor."

He picked up the card, where Victor had written in Japanese _I'm so grateful you're with me this New Year's Eve, my Yuuri._

Yuuri looked up, blinking rather fast, his smile softening. "Thank you, Victor."

"I'd rather thank the universe for bringing us together," Victor said, and then spoiled it by breaking into an uncontrollable yawn.

Yuuri burst out laughing, but soon he was yawning too.

Victor scowled. "We can't go to bed, it's much too early."

In the streets outside Victor's city centre apartment, people were calling out to one another, happy and excited and probably drunk. The sky was filled with fireworks.

Yuuri and Victor stood on his tiny balcony and watched the fireworks. Victor kissed Yuuri's hair in the dark. 

"I love you," he whispered and Yuuri craned his neck to look back at Victor, smiling his softest smile, the one reserved for Victor alone.

"I love you too," he said simply.

Something warm and happy blossomed in Victor's chest. No matter how uncertain the future, and no matter how rarely Yuuri said the words, that was one thing Victor never doubted.

.. .. .. ..

The rink was quieter than usual during the New Year holiday period. Only the most serious competitive skaters were still around. Victor had his programs in good shape by now, and they had over a month of practice time left before Europeans and Four Continents.

"These are the best days," Victor thought, watching Yuuri messing around on the ice with Mila and Sasha, one of the new Seniors this year. The bulk of the mischief came from Mila, but Yuuri was going along with it.

Yuuri seemed to have found a place for himself at the rink. He no longer felt the need to skate only very early in the morning when no one else was around. And he was learning far more Russian at the rink than from the books and apps he poured over each day. Not that Victor cared how well or how badly Yuuri spoke Russian. What he cared about was how much effort he saw Yuuri putting into learning the language. They still hadn't talked about what they would do after the season ended, never mind the rest of their lives. But Yuuri clearly expected it to involve him speaking Russian. Victor clung to that fact.

The next day was rest day. They spent it shopping for groceries, then lazing about at home browsing the internet or watching DVDs.

Towards five o'clock, Yuuri switched off his tablet and looked at Victor uncertainly. 

"Do you want to -- go out? Or do something?"

Victor looked up, surprised. "What? Why, do you want to?"

"I don't know what you usually do when I'm not here. I don't want you keep you in."

In the three weeks they had been together in Saint Petersburg so far, they hadn't discussed this.

"I usually do exactly what I'm doing now." He thought about that for a moment. "But then I don't usually have a boyfriend." 

Yuuri met his eye, smiling at that.

"So... maybe we could go out together just once. But... "

"...nothing too strenuous, nothing too late, no more than one glass of alcohol," Yuuri finished before he could. 

Victor winked. "Let's save the strenuous part for when we get home afterwards."

Ten minutes later, fresh out of the shower, Victor found Yuuri in the middle of the bedroom wearing skinny jeans and nothing else. He was bending over his suitcase, giving Victor an excellent view of his ass.

"I thought I had some clothes I didn't unpack yet, but I can't seem to find them," he said over his shoulder. "I don't have any tops except sports t-shirts and practice gear."

Victor wasn't surprised. Yuuri travelled light -- ridiculously light. Victor had hardly been able to believe it, but he had it on good authority from Minako that Yuuri had returned home after five years in Detroit with all his belongings in only one suitcase.

He turned to the wardrobe he now shared with Yuuri and pulled out one of his favourite tops, a dark green button-down in a silky material that would cling to Yuuri's shoulders and bring out the brown in his eyes.

"I think you'd look good in this."

Yuuri side-eyed the shirt. "What am I dressing for? You said no alcohol and nothing strenuous."

"I thought a long walk and then a meal at a restaurant? I know one where they'll let us bring Makkachin into the entrance hall, so he can come on the walk with us."

Yuuri smiled. "Okay."

It was the first time they'd done anything together in Saint Petersburg besides shuttling back and forth between the rink and Victor's apartment, with an occasional detour to the grocery store. As they walked along the banks of the Neva, hand in hand, Victor allowed himself to imagine this being their life, maybe even after they retired.

He squeezed Yuuri's hand, and Yuuri squeezed back, looking up at him with the smile he reserved only for Victor.

...........

The February edition of _Secrets of the Stars_ devoted a two-page spread to Victor Nikiforov and Katsuki Yuuri. It was a magazine more interested in pop stars and actors than athletes, but this juicy love story was exactly the kind of thing it liked to latch on to.

Victor scowled at the page. There was very little text. It was mostly photos of the two of them outdoors: holding hands, kissing, walking arm in arm. They'd never been shy about PDAs and the journalists probably had plenty of material. The same sort of thing was all over fansites on the internet. Victor didn't care, and he didn't think Yuuri would either. Not too much.

What Victor cared about was the headline. _World Championship medallist Nikiforov's latest toyboy_ , it screamed. 

Since their return from Barcelona, Victor had been refusing most interview requests, especially those from "lifestyle" magazines that would want to interview him at home. He'd never liked them, not even back when they just wanted cutesy photos of him and Makkachin. Now they'd be angling for the inside scoop on him and Yuuri together. He wouldn't enjoy it, and he knew Yuuri would hate it.

He was obliged to give some interviews, of course, but he'd been sticking strictly to specialist sports magazines and the sports supplements of serious newspapers.

He scowled down at the magazine again. For a moment he flirted with the idea of setting up an expose in some Japanese tabloid, where he was Yuuri's toyboy instead.

"Victor?"

Yuuri came into the locker room. He stopped when he saw what Victor was holding. Victor saw him wince, and winced too.

"I haven't had a string of, um, toyboys, you know," he said awkwardly.

To his surprise, Yuuri laughed. "I didn't think you had."

Victor crumpled up the paper and threw it in the rubbish bin.

"It bothers you more than it bothers me," Yuuri observed.

Victor blinked at him, surprised. _Maybe because I want it to be "Viktor Nikiforov's husband",_ he thought. _Or rather, I want the title to be "World Champion Yuuri Katsuki's new husband". And that's a lot to put on you._

Yuuri seemed to have forgotten the magazine already. "I was looking for you. Alexei is waiting for us upstairs. We need to finalize my training schedule before I leave for 4C."

Yuuri was leaving in two days. Victor felt a sudden wave of guilt.

"I'm coming with you," he said suddenly.

Yuuri stared. "What? No, Victor -- "

They had agreed all this already. Yuuri would go alone to Four Continents with Alexei, while Victor stayed in Saint Petersburg to train for Europeans.

"Europeans are two days after I get back, on the opposite side of the world," Yuuri protested. "You can't possibly take the time off. You need to be on the ice every day."

"I can pull out of Europeans. The RSF will still send me to World's."

"Yes, they probably will, because it's you. But they'd be crazy to do so. Someone who hasn't skated competitively in almost a year? Not to mention that they'd have to scramble to find someone else to fill your spot, someone who wouldn't have very much time to prepare."

"But Yuuri -- "

"No way." Yuuri came closer and took his hands. "I've skated without you once before when I had too," he said quietly. "I can do it again."

"I should be the one reassuring you, not the other way around," Victor said with a grimace.

Yuuri leaned in to kiss him. "Well, too bad. Now come on. Let's go find Alexei."

.. .. .. ..

Two days later, Victor accompanied Yuuri to the airport, and hugged him fiercely at the entrance to security control.

"I'll be watching you," he whispered. "I won't take my eyes off you."

Yuuri smiled, and brushed Victor's cheek with his thumb, as though wiping away the tears that threatened to fall. "I'll miss you."

This was the first time they'd be separated in almost three months.

"I miss you already," Victor replied, and waved and waved until Yuuri had disappeared through security.

He went back to the rink alone and threw himself into his routine, not leaving the ice until he knew Yuuri's plane would have landed in Taipei. 

"Go home and go to sleep, Vitya," Yuuri scolded him when he called. "I'm going to try and stay awake until it's night-time here. Which is... in at least twelve hours. Urgh."

It was late evening in Saint Petersburg. Victor was almost the last person left at the rink. He sat down in the bleachers and cradled the phone to his ear, wishing he could see Yuuri on screen.

"Your luggage arrived okay? You have all your costumes and stuff?"

"Yes, Victor." He could hear the smile in Yuuri's voice.

"You'll send me your footage? Even if I'm asleep."

"Alexei will record me, yes." There was a burst of noise and conversation on Yuuri's end, and then Yuuri came back on the line. "I have to go. Alexei just found a taxi." The phone speakers buzzed as he moved. "Miss you."

"I miss you too," Victor whispered

When he got back to his apartment, Yuuri's side of the bed was cold and empty. It took him a long time to fall asleep.

When he woke the next morning, he had an email from Alexei with Yuuri's practice footage from the afternoon skate, Taipei time. He also had a private message from Phichit with a short clip of Yuuri curled up in the corner of what looked like a restaurant booth, late in the evening, blinking sleepily at the camera. He looked adorable. Phichit had written _You can thank me later, Nikiforov._

Victor cooed over it and sent off an instant response.

_I love you Chulanont!!!!!!_

As an afterthought, he added:

_Please make sure Yuuri drinks plenty of water and goes back to the hotel early._

Phichit replied immediately, sending him back the emoji with its tongue stuck out, then took pity on him and added _Ok, ok. We're just leaving the restaurant now._

The next few days were more difficult than anything Victor had done yet in his skating career. He stayed awake until 4 am each morning, against Yakov's advice, so that he would be awake during the daytime Taipei time. Then he slept, and got up in the afternoon to skate while Yuuri was asleep.

He and Yuuri spoke whenever they could, on the phone or by Facetime, but only in snatches of borrowed time, short and unsatisfying. Victor found himself haunting Phichit's Instagram feed, desperate for glimpses of Yuuri.

The apartment was cold and silent. Victor wished Yuuri had spread his things around the place, leaving his mark, but in fact Yuuri had very few belongings. Besides a few items of clothing in the wardrobe, and a glass of water on the bedside table, he had packed everything else into his one and only suitcase to take to Taipei with him. Victor's one consolation was Yuuri's New Year's gift, which he'd placed on his side of the bed so he could see it every morning.

Taipei seemed very far away.

Victor should have gone with him. He couldn't concentrate on his own skating here. He was competing in Europeans in less than a week's time, but it might as well have been next year for all the importance his brain seemed willing to accord it.

As he sat curled up in bed at one o'clock in the morning, a few hours before Yuuri's short program, he wondered whether they could keep this up for another season. But the only solution seemed to be for him to stop competing, because... he couldn't stop being Yuuri's coach. He loved it. It was the best thing he'd done in years. 

And also, if he wasn't Yuuri's coach, what was he to Yuuri?

He thought back to those heady days in Barcelona, when Yuuri decided to finish the skating season. Agreed to get married -- or so Victor had understood it at the time. He'd wanted to get married straight away. He wanted some permanent tie to Yuuri, craving that connection, that proof beyond love, that Yuuri agreed they would be together for the rest of their lives.

He knew Yuuri could win Gold at Worlds. Knew it with a burning conviction that he wanted Yuuri to share every day on the ice.

But he also knew there were no guarantees in skating. What if Yuuri didn't even make the podium? What if he decided his career was over and vanished back to Japan, deliberately leaving Victor behind?

Victor didn't really think Yuuri would do that, but when he lay awake alone at night, in his cold and empty bed, it seemed a frighteningly real possibility. In his nightmares, he was reaching out, and Yuuri was slipping through his fingers.

.. .. ..

Two days later, Yuuri was in second place going into the free skate after a clean, smooth short program. Victor sent off a barrage of text messages. One to Alexei to remind him to film Yuuri's warm-up and send him the footage. One to Phichit to ask him to pass on a hug to Yuuri. Multiple messages to Yuuri himself, full of everything he wished he could say in person.

Then Victor sat curled up in bed at three o'clock in the morning, and watched Yuuri lose from a distance. 

From the start of the routine, he knew something was wrong. Yuuri was stiff and awkward, his head bowed even when that wasn't part of the choreography, the tips of his fingers trembling when he stretched out his hands. He flubbed two jumps he usually nailed easily, and one of his quads lost an entire rotation.

As Yuuri came off the ice, lips pressed together in a thin line, there was still one more skater to go, but it was already clear Yuuri didn't make the podium.

On the tiny screen of his phone, Victor watched Yuuri sitting in the kiss and cry with Alexei at his side, knowing it should have been him with his arm around Yuuri's shoulder.

Victor phoned Yuuri as soon as he left the kiss and cry, but Yuuri wasn't picking up. The second time he rang, two minutes later, Yuuri's phone was switched off. He phoned Alexei instead.

"Alyosha? It's Vitya. Is Yuuri with you?"

"Yes." In the background, Victor could hear the noise of the same crowd he could see on TV. They must be still at the rinkside.

"He's switched his phone off. Can you pass me to him?"

"I know. I just saw him switch it off." Alexei sounded irritatingly understanding. "Don't you think that's his choice? Let him call you, Vitya."

Victor ground his teeth. He didn't like it when Alexei was wiser than he was.

He sank back onto the bed and closed his eyes, telling himself it didn't matter. There were no practical consequences, after all. Yuuri was still Japan's top-ranked figure skater. The JSF would still send him to Worlds.

And fifth place at Four Continents was not a failure, far from it.

But he knew Yuuri wouldn't see it that way.

After the final skater had finished, the camera on Victor's feed panned around the rink, and Victor caught a glimpse of Yuuri hugging Phichit, who'd just nabbed himself a bronze medal.

He didn't have Phichit's phone number, but they were mutual friends or followers on pretty much every social media network. He sent off a couple of quick messages. _Is Yuuri okay? Are you still with him? Can you ask him to call me?_ As an afterthought, he added _Congratulations, by the way!_

He had to wait an agonising forty minutes before Phichit replied. _Going to get something to eat. Yuuri is ok. He says go to sleep Nikiforov!!!_

Victor lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He'd gone to Japan last year with the conviction that he would be the perfect coach for Yuuri. He was the world's top skater; he was sure he could be the world's top coach too. He'd been forced to realise that the one didn't imply the other.

Was Alexei a better coach for Yuuri than Victor was? Or even Cialdini?

Yuuri said no. Yuuri said Victor was the coach he wanted.

Victor curled up in a ball and tried to fall asleep.

.. .. ..

Victor caught sight of Yuuri as soon as he cleared Customs at the airport. He waved frantically, impatience and joy bubbling up in his heart.

Yuuri let go of his suitcase and threw his arms around Victor. They clung together, Yuuri's head heavy on Victor's shoulder. Victor cradled his face in both hands and kissed him soundly. Yuuri kissed him back, his arms tight around Victor's waist.

"I missed you," Victor whispered in his ear.

Yuuri squeezed tighter.

Finally they broke apart.

"You weren't answering my calls," Victor burst out.

Yuuri winced. "I know. I'm sorry. I just needed... some space. I knew Phichit let you know I was okay." 

"You were okay? You didn't seem okay."

Yuuri ran a hand through his hair. Now that Victor could see him up close, he looked exhausted. As exhausted as Victor felt. "You want to talk about this here and now?"

Victor frowned. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back everything he wanted to say. "But what happened? Did you -- "

"Have a panic attack? Yes." Yuuri glared at him. "Wasn't that obvious?"

Not really obvious, no. Not from eight thousand kilometres away.

"What happened?" he asked again.

Yuuri sighed and looked away, some of the tension draining out of him. He shrugged. "My head was in the wrong space, I guess."

"If I'd been there -- " Victor couldn't keep the guilt from his voice. 

Yuuri looked back sharply. "It's not that simple. There's no -- no simple explanation. No one factor. If there was, I would have figured it out years ago."

"Still, I should have been there."

Yuuri shook his head. "I didn't need you."

It was an arrow to Victor's heart. _I didn't need you._

"Right," he snapped. "Because you've always done so well on your own in the past."

Yuuri flinched. He stared at Victor, stricken.

Victor clapped his hands to his mouth. That was... catty, and completely the wrong thing to say. He'd always promised himself he would never throw Yuuri's failures back in his face.

Yuuri gathered himself. "Thanks," he said sourly. "That's just what I needed to hear." He picked up the suitcase he'd dropped to throw his arms around Victor. "Come on, we should find a taxi."

Victor trailed after him, his heart pounding. He was kicking himself. How could he have been so stupid? But below that, in the back of his mind, in the depths of his heart, a cruel refrain was chanting. _I don't need you. I don't need you. I don't need you._


	5. Chapter 5

As far as Yuuri could tell, the population of Bratislava seemed to be composed entirely of Russian journalists. This was Victor's big comeback after almost a year's absence, and the journalists were hot on his heels. The hotel lobby was full of them. One determined fellow -- Yuuri recognised him from their press conference back in St Petersburg as being a reporter for the Sport Sunday Supplement -- blocked their path as they crossed the hotel lobby.

"Victor! Victor! Over here! Just one comment!" 

Victor pasted on his widest press smile. "Hello, Piotr Alexandrovitch. Fancy meeting you here."

Yuuri grabbed Victor's suitcase as well as his own and slipped away. On the way up to the hotel room, he shared an elevator with a boy and a girl who kept shooting him sideways looks. He didn't recognise them, but they both wore the French national team jacket. Why did they keep glowering at him? They didn't recognise him, surely? He was well aware that when he wasn't wearing his costume or national jacket, he had a pretty ordinary and forgettable face, and he wasn't even expected to be here, at a competition he wasn't eligible to compete in.

Yuuri was going to the seventh floor, but the two French skaters had hit the button for the second floor. As the elevator pinged and the doors slid open, the boy burst out, "Katsuki Yuuri! Can we -- can we get a selfie?"

"Uh..." Yuuri said. His face was burning. He knew meeting fans was important, but did it have to happen now, right after his humiliation at Four Continents? He'd been hoping and planning to remain relatively incognito here. "Uh, you'll miss your floor. Isn't this your floor?"

But they didn't seem to care. The boy had whipped out his phone, and as soon as Yuuri had nodded his permission, still bewildered, they both crowded in beside him to take the picture.

"I've been watching you skate since I was twelve," the boy announced. "I can't believe you're going to be here while we're competing."

"Are you here with the Russian team?" the girl chimed in.

"I wish I could come see you at Worlds!"

"Uh... this is my floor," Yuuri said politely as the elevator came to a halt again on the seventh floor, and the doors opened.

He extricated himself from the elevator with his suitcases and gave a quick bow to both of them, as the door slid shut on their excited faces.

As he unlocked the room he would share with Victor, his phone buzzed with a message from Alexei, who had booked time for him at a rink in the suburbs.

_Meet me in the lobby at two thirty. And make sure you've eaten properly first, at least an hour beforehand. Do not get distracted with Victor!_

Yuuri blushed. But the warning was necessary. It had happened before that he and Victor had gotten caught up in... stuff, and had been late to one appointment or another. 

There didn't seem much danger of that today. Victor had been determinedly cheerful and yet horribly distant since they'd left Saint Petersburg. Yuuri didn't know what to do about it, didn't know how to bridge the gap that had opened up between them.

He had finished unpacking the most important stuff: phone, phone charger, skates and first aid kit, by the time Victor arrived. He glanced up at Victor, who gave him a bright, brittle smile.

"Thanks for taking care of my suitcase, Yuuri." He picked it up and put it on the luggage rack to open it, rummaging around until he found his team jacket. "I'm starving! Want to go eat lunch with the rest of the team?"

Yuuri nodded mutely.

They went downstairs together, the silence heavy between them. In the corridor, just before they went into the hotel restaurant, Victor stopped short and turned to face him.

"Yuuri?"

He leaned in for a kiss, his hand on Yuuri's arm.

It was just a quick peck on the lips, but Yuuri's heart lifted, and he leaned in for a second kiss. When they broke apart, they were both smiling. Yuuri suddenly felt a lot better, and he was still smiling as they headed into the restaurant together.

That afternoon, Alexei did not let him skate too long nor push himself too hard, reminding him he'd spent most of the last two days in international travel. And also, Yuuri suspected, because it was his first time back on the ice since he'd crashed and burned in Taipei. Instead, they worked on his musicality and expression.

By the time Yuuri got back to the hotel afterwards, it was early evening. Victor had sent him a text message with the address of the restaurant where the Russian team were having dinner, and Yuuri joined them there.

"Want to go out?" Victor asked Yuuri afterwards, when Mila and Georgi announced their intention of checking out Bratislava's nightlife. "Or back to the hotel?"

"Back to the hotel," Yuuri said firmly. He'd seen Victor stifling several yawns over dinner.

"I'm just going to have a shower," Victor said, once they were back in the hotel room."And then we should talk about your training session, Yuuri. Alyosha sent me the footage from this afternoon."

Yuuri stared at him. "What? No!" Was Victor crazy? Just one day before his first competition in almost a year, he wanted to talk about _Yuuri's_ skating?

Victor frowned. "Why not?"

Yuuri shook his head impatiently. This was not the time to get into an argument, distracting Victor from the one thing he should be concentrating on: his upcoming short program. "I'm going to bed," he announced, thinking it was best to head off the discussion entirely. "Are you tired? I'm tired."

He grabbed his washbag and headed into the bathroom, ignoring Victor's stricken look.

Victor was silent when Yuuri returned to the bedroom. Yuuri lay in bed, listening to the sound of running water as Victor had his shower, his throat tight with anxiety, feeling like he'd done the wrong thing even though he was sure he'd done the right thing.

When Victor finally joined him in bed, Yuuri rolled over to face him.

Victor's face very close. He looked -- wary? Yuuri blinked. His glasses were lying on the bedside table, and he couldn't make out Victor's expression.

He slid out a hand across the mattress, and after a moment Victor took it. He snuggled closer and felt Victor relax. They fell asleep like that, holding hands.

Victor did not repeat his offer to watch Yuuri's training videos, and the following day they were both busy with their respective training schedules. They still managed to spend plenty of time together, having lunch with Christophe, and an evening tour of Bratislava before dinner with Yuri, Mila, and Sara Crispino. They climbed Bratislava Castle to enjoy the view over three countries: Slovakia, Austria, and Hungary.

Victor was in his most exuberant, sparkling mood, making the others laugh, bubbling over with enthusiasm for everything they saw in the Old Town, and flirting with the tour guide at the castle. But Yuuri could see right through that now. He knew Victor was unhappy. He could see it in every sad face when he thought Yuuri wasn't looking, every smile that didn't reach his eyes, every hollow laugh. And he knew it was his fault.

What kind of stupid boyfriend did that to someone just before he was about to compete in an international competition for the first time in months?

Yuuri decided it was probably best to stay out of Victor's way over the next few days. 

For Victor's short program, Yuuri sat in the skaters' area with the Russian team, thanks to an RSF pass Yakov had procured for him. It was odd to be at an international competition, but not be competing. The sights and sounds of the rink awakened a sort of Pavlovian reaction in him, and he felt as tense as though he truly was going to compete in a few hours. He took a deep breath, trying to relax. 

As soon as Victor skated out onto the ice for his group warmup, however, none of that mattered anymore. All other thoughts and worries were driven from Yuuri's mind. Victor was back on the ice, where he belonged, and Yuuri's heart swelled with joy.

Victor was the last skater in his group, and as the first strains of Ravel's Bolero sounded out across the ice, Yuuri leaned forward, his heart in his mouth. A hush seemed to have descended on the entire arena. This was the first public performance of Victor's new program, the routine Yuuri had first seen at Victor's childhood rink in December.

The music's hypnotic repetitive beat thrummed through Yuuri's body as Victor flew across the ice, all grace and beauty. Yuuri smiled as the step sequence began, remembering how he had watched Victor skate that over and over again, testing so many different combinations of steps to the music. Today, Victor was flawless.

The Bolero built to a triumphant crescendo, and Victor's comeback was triumphant too. It had all been worth it, all the hard work and long days, the double strain of competing and coaching. Victor came skating off the ice to thunderous applause, and Yuuri rushed to meet him. He clutched Victor's hand tight in the kiss and cry as the scores went up. Victor, of course, was in first place going into the free skate.

***

Yuuri didn't have a training session the following morning -- Alexei had decreed a half-day of rest for him -- but Victor was practicing, of course. Yuuri slipped away, remembering his ambition not to distract Victor. Their hotel had a small garden out back, and he sat on a bench beside a water feature, listening to his own free skate music on his phone. In a month's time, he would be at Worlds. He and Victor both. It was a dream come true.

When he started to get hungry, he went back inside the hotel, ready for lunch. He met Yuri in the hotel lobby.

Yuri scowled at him. "Victor's been looking for you for _hours_."

"It can't have been hours," Yuuri objected, but Yuri cut across him.

"Just go put him out of his misery."

Yuuri found Victor in the hotel bar, sitting at a table by the window. He was with a whole group of other skaters, but he wasn't taking part in the conversation. He was staring out the window, turning his phone over and over in his hands, and for a moment Yuuri thought he looked -- lonely. Which was ridiculous.

Victor's face lit up when he saw Victor. "Yuuri! You've been avoiding me!"

That was true. Yuuri didn't try to deny it. He sat down beside Victor, as the other skaters shunted over to make room for him.

"I'm coming to your practice this afternoon," Victor announced. He pulled out his phone. "What's the exact address of the rink?"

"You've been on the ice all morning!" Yuuri protested.

"I'm your coach, and I haven't been to a single one of your training sessions since before you left for Taipei. That's not okay, Yuuri."

Victor overrode all Yuuri's protests and accompanied him to the city rink that afternoon. As Yuuri pulled on his skates, Victor peppered Alexei with questions about Yuuri's recent training.

At the end of the training session, after Yuuri had been through both his free skate and his short program, he came skating back to Victor and Alexei at the boards. Victor clapped, looking approving.

"I guess you don't need me after all," he said with a laugh.

Yuuri shook his head. Alexei was good, but Victor inspired him in a way Alexei never could. "Don't be silly." He took the skate guards Alexei was holding out to him, and slipped them on. "What did you think of my last jump in the short? I'm still not sure whether to stick with what I had in Taipei."

Back at the hotel, in the lobby, they met Yakov.

"Where have you been, Vitya?" he growled. "You were supposed to be with the physiotherapist half an hour ago!"

Yuuri shot an accusing look at Victor, who ignored it.

***

Victor was stunning in his costume for the free skate. Yuuri had seen it when he'd tried it on back in Saint Petersburg, of course, but seeing it in competition was always something special. It was a deep shimmering black, hugging his body, with a diagonal patch of red sequins on the torso, and a single line of sequins running down his side.

There was only one possible improvement that could be made to the costume, Yuuri thought, and it came when he saw Victor standing up on the podium, the European Men's gold medal around his neck.

Yuuri clapped and cheered with the rest of the crowd, his heart fit to burst.

Victor came up to him afterwards at the rinkside, his medal gleaming on his chest, and flung his arms around him. "Yuuriii! Are you proud of me?"

Yuuri kissed him, long and heartfelt, and that was going to be all over the press and the internet, but Yuuri didn't care.

At the banquet, Yuuri rather enjoyed himself. It made a nice change, not having to talk to sponsors or skating officials. He could chat with the few friends he had among the European skaters, or just stand there peacefully and sip his champagne. He was in a quiet corner of the hotel ballroom, doing the latter, when Victor came up to him from behind and slid an arm around his waist, resting his chin on Yuuri's shoulder. "Want to sneak out the back entrance and make out in the hotel garden?"

Yuuri laughed. He knew Victor didn't really mean it -- they'd been at the banquet less than half an hour, and Victor still hadn't spoken to all the people he was supposed to. But Yuuri was definitely tempted.

He turned his head to smile at Victor, and Victor smiled back. Then his smile turned into a sigh.

"I've missed you, Yuuri, these last few days."

"What? I've been here all along."

Victor gave him a direct look. "Not really."

Surprised, Yuuri slipped out of Victor's arms and turned to face him. He felt suddenly uncomfortable under Victor's gaze. "You didn't need me distracting you while you were concentrating on the competition."

To his bewilderment, Victor flinched. " _Need_?" he repeated. "I did need you! I always need you."

Yuuri blinked, taken aback by the vehemence in Victor's voice.

Victor was running a finger around the rim of his champagne glass, suddenly seeming fascinated by it. "Is that what I am to you, Yuuri? A distraction?"

"No," Yuuri said, his voice coming out more doubtful than sure.

Victor looked up at him, a quick glance from under his eyelashes, and forced out a laugh. "I know you don't _need_ me, exactly--"

Yuuri frowned. Sometimes Victor seemed to be communicating in a different language, for all that they were both speaking Japanese. What did he mean? Need him as a coach? As a friend? As a boyfriend?

"I do need you," he said firmly.

Victor seemed to relax. He dumped his glass on the nearby table, and put both his hands on Yuuri's shoulders, smiling down at him. "I haven't been a very good coach these last few weeks, have I?"

Yuuri frowned. Victor was the best coach.

Victor was still speaking. "I should have been there for you. And at Worlds I'll make the same mistake again. I'll go as a coach only and not as a competitor."

Yuuri stared in horror, his worst nightmare unfolding before his very eyes. "Victor, no!"

Victor nodded. "Yes. It's the only way, I think."

"You're not serious!"

But he saw that Victor was serious. Deadly serious.

"Victor, you can't! You -- no. Just no."

"You can't stop me withdrawing, you know, Yuuri," Victor said, smiling.

Yuuri swallowed hard around the panicked lump in his throat. "No, but... I can fire you as my coach."

Victor went white. He let his hands fall away from Yuuri's shoulders. "You don't mean that."

"I do." He was grasping at straws. Grasping at the only way to make sure Victor was there with him at Worlds, on the ice by his side. "I'm firing you."

Victor just stared at him in silence, his mouth hanging open. He had turned an odd sickly shade, two spots of red burning in his cheeks.

Then he turned abruptly and walked away.

Yuuri wondered if he'd just made the worst decision of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I think the medal ceremonies and banquet are actually a day or so after the end of the competition, not sure when exactly, but in this fic I've speeded up the sequence of events for dramatic effect.


	6. Chapter 6

In the taxi on the way back from the airport, Mila chattered about her plans to visit Sara in Italy that summer, and Yuuri tried to keep up his end of the conversation, while Victor remained almost entirely silent. Mila cast him a concerned glance from time to time, but didn't try to talk to him.

The taxi pulled up at Victor's apartment building. As Yuuri climbed out, Victor cast him a sidelong glance that Yuuri couldn't interpret -- surprise? relief? -- but said nothing.

Yuuri had been replaying their conversation at the banquet in his head, over and over again, on the flight back to Saint Petersburg. But he always came to the same sickening conclusion. It was like careening down a slide in the dark. He couldn't stop, he couldn't get off, and it always led to the same inevitable crash. He couldn't see what else he could have said or done.

He followed Victor upstairs to his apartment and put down his suitcase by the door. The apartment seemed quiet and empty without Makkachin, who was still at the dogsitter's.

"Are you hungry?" Victor asked, his voice unnaturally bright.

Yuuri shook his head. They'd had lunch on the plane.

He looked around the living room. Everything seemed strange and slightly unreal, as though he'd returned from a long absence. There was the sofa where they'd often spent hours making out, there was the corner where the New Year's tree had stood, there were the double doors to the balcony where they'd pressed close and exchanged _I love you_ 's on New Year's eve.

He turned, and saw with a shock that Victor's eyes were glistening with tears. Victor turned his head away quickly, bending over his suitcase.

Yuuri stood frozen, and after a pause Victor said loudly, "Look! We've got those walnut rolls I bought in Bratislava. I'll leave them in the kitchen."

Yuuri winced at the falsely cheerful note in his voice. "Victor?" he said uncertainly.

Victor brought the cake over to the kitchen. He left it on the counter and turned away from Yuuri to pour himself a glass of water.

Yuuri stood in the middle of the room, feeling awkward and helpless. "Victor?"

Victor put his glass down abruptly on the counter and turned to face Yuuri, giving a short shaky laugh. "For a moment there, in the hotel ballroom, I thought you were breaking up with me."

Yuuri's heart plummeted. He stared at Victor, horrorstruck, and shook his head, waving his hands frantically in negation. "What? No, no, no."

Victor seemed to relax. "Okay. Good." But he didn't make a move towards Yuuri. Instead he sank onto the sofa, looking lost. He sat with his head bent, his hair falling over his face.

Yuuri came to join him, taking the chair opposite. He saw Victor was playing with his ring, twisting it round and round on his finger. He'd often noticed Victor doing that unconsciously.

Victor hadn't brought up the idea of getting married since they were in Siberia. Yuuri got a horrible tight feeling in his throat whenever he thought about it. It was such a complicated thing and it seemed to involve so many decisions: where to hold the ceremony, who to invite, all the paperwork to do. And it would attract so many comments and so much attention -- from the media, from fans, from their rinkmates. He couldn't afford any distractions from training. He _wanted_ to marry Victor, of course. But they could always worry about that sort of thing later, right?

Victor stopped playing with his ring and looked up at Yuuri. "Sometimes I don't know what to make of you. You're so self-..." He broke off, as though grasping for the word.

"Self-assured?" Yuuri finished the sentence, bewildered that anyone would think that. "I'm really not."

"I was going to say self-contained. Independent. You don't need anyone else."

Yuuri rubbed the back of his head, feeling flustered and bewildered. "I'm, uh, a sort of private person. That's not the same thing. I do need other people."

Victor eyed him doubtfully.

Yuuri felt like they were pair-skating blindfold, groping out in the dark for each other's hands. Wasn't love suppose to make this sort of thing easy? Surely if he loved Victor enough, he would know what Victor wanted? What Victor needed?

But he didn't know, so he could only say what was honestly in his heart.

"I need you," he said. "I couldn't do this without you."

Victor's expression softened, but he still looked uncertain. "Do _this_?" he echoed, a question in his voice.

Yuuri waved his hands helplessly. _This_ meant skating. Training. Life. Everything. 

"Do you mean... for now? Or for... longer than that?"

"What do you mean?" Yuuri asked, taken aback.

Victor looked like he was choosing his words carefully. "I don't know what happens after the end of this season."

Yuuri hesitated. "I don't like to think about the future or plan too far ahead," he said at last.

"I've noticed," Victor said quietly, but he didn't look like he understood.

Yuuri knew that Victor himself had planned out his entire ice skating career at the age of fifteen, and in the following decade he had achieved almost everything in his plan, despite several seasons lost to injury.

He struggled to explain. "Because when I do that... usually what I want doesn't happen and my plans don't work."

Victor winced. He nodded slowly, and Yuuri saw with relief that he seemed to understand. But his lips were pressed tightly together, and Yuuri could see there was still a question he was burning to ask.

Yuuri took a deep breath. "So... I don't know what my plans are. I just know that whenever I imagine the future, you're always in it."

Victor stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed. Then he surged forward, throwing his arms around Yuuri and knocking him back into the armchair to be soundly kissed.

***

The next morning, Yuuri woke with Victor's arms around him. He turned over, snuggling in closer and burying his head into the pillow, hoping he still had a few minutes to sleep before the alarm went off. They had to be at the rink at nine that morning.

"We need to talk to Alexei," Victor said, as though it was the end of a train of thought that had been running through his head. He sounded wide awake, and Yuuri blinked sleepily, trying to wake up as well. "If you want him to be your official coach for Worlds, I mean."

Yuuri grunted, not yet ready for conversation.

"It's a good idea, of course," Victor went on, though he didn't sound happy. "It makes sense." 

Yuuri thought so too, but he realised now that he probably could have gone about things in a different way when he brought up the subject. "I'm sorry I sprang the idea on you in the middle of the banquet."

Victor slipped his hand into Yuuri's where it lay on the mattress between them, and squeezed tight. "It's okay. I guess I jumped to the worst possible conclusion." 

Yuuri squeezed back. He was still not fully awake, and after a moment his eyes started to drift shut again.

"It makes sense, of course," Victor said again. "And not only because I'm competing in the same competition."

Yuuri frowned. Was he still sleep-fuddled, or was Victor talking nonsense. "It _is_ only because you're competing."

"Well, he's also an excellent coach. He's very experienced."

Yuuri shot up in bed, nearly cracking his head against the wall, and stared down at Victor. "Yes, but you're the best coach I've ever had!"

Victor's eyes were wide. 

"You didn't know?" Yuuri said, surprised.

Victor smiled, looking self-conscious. "Well, you've never said..."

It seemed crazy that Victor, self-confident World Champion Victor, should have doubts about his coaching ability. Maybe Yuuri was particularly difficult to coach? No, that wasn't it. Yuuri forced himself to shake off that unhelpful thought. Maybe Victor just cared a lot more about Yuuri's success than about anyone else's.

"Well, you are," Yuuri said firmly. A sudden suspicion crossed Yuuri's mind. "Victor," he said slowly. "Next season..."

"I won't be competing, if that's what you're asking," Victor said.

Yuuri already knew that. Victor had said as much in Barcelona. "I know. But... you'll be my coach, right?"

"Of course," Victor said immediately. "So... you want me to?"

"You didn't know?"

"Yuuri, I didn't even know if you were planning to go on skating next season!"

"Oh." Yuuri hesitated, his stomach gripped by a sudden bout of fear. Was he really planning to go on skating after this season? What if Worlds were a complete disaster? But... maybe they wouldn't be.

"I'm hardly -- " He swallowed. It seemed crazy even to say this aloud. "I'm hardly going to retire straight after I win gold at World's, am I?"

Victor's smile was a sight to behold. He grabbed Yuuri and pulled him down onto the mattress, rolling over on top of him and peppering him with kisses.

***

Together with Alexei, they agreed on the wording of a short press release announcing his new status as Yuuri's official coach. In the following weeks, Yuuri threw himself into training, but he was busy with something else too, something that involved lots of paperwork, and several phonecalls to Victor's parents and his own.

Finally he was ready to put his plan into action. He waited until their next rest day.

"Let's go to Krestovsky Island," he suggested, when Victor asked what he wanted to do.

It was a fine March day, the skies bright blue and wide open above. Makkachin enjoyed the walk, running ahead as far as he was allowed and then coming back to join them, panting happily as Victor and Yuuri walked more slowly, hand in hand. The park was quiet on this weekday afternoon. The only other people in sight were a few families with small children, watching the ducks and swans on the lake.

Yuuri turned to Victor. Last time, standing on the steps of the cathedral in Barcelona, he had been too shy and too unsure of himself to say what he really meant. This time, he meant to do things properly.

He took a deep breath. "Victor, will you marry me?"

Victor's jaw dropped.

"With no conditions," Yuuri added quickly. "Even if neither of us wins gold."

Victor didn't even protest the unlikelihood of that idea. He just stared, and swallowed. "Really?"

Yuuri was struck by a sudden fear that Victor was going to say no. But that lasted only a split second, and then he threw his arms around Yuuri.

"Yes, of course I will. Yuuriiii!"

His face was buried in Yuuri's shoulder, his voice suspiciously muffled. When he drew back to look at Yuuri, he was beaming. Yuuri found he was blinking tears of happiness from his own eyes, and then they were both laughing and crying at the same time. Makkachin ran around them, barking and wagging his tail.

They sat down on a bench, and Yuuri pulled out the cardboard folder he'd stowed in his backpack earlier that day.

"What's in the folder?" Victor asked, curious.

Yuuri opened the cardboard folder to show him. It was all the paperwork he had prepared - birth certificates, translations, official forms -- with the help of Victor's parents and his own.

"Well, I'd already given you the ring," he said in explanation. "So I thought I would do this instead."

Victor laughed. "Oh, Yuuri!"


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I posted this epilogue and the previous chapter (Chapter 6) at the same time, so be careful you don't miss a chapter if AO3 directs you here!

_Six months later_

Victor stifled a yawn. After a day spent walking in the maple forests around Mount Misen, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed with Yuuri. On the way back to their hotel, they'd stopped into one of Miyajima's small shops. Victor was browsing through the photos on his telephone, waiting for Yuuri to finish his purchases. He had taken pictures of wild deer, of beautiful maple forests, of the lake and the Torii gate, and of Yuuri... many, many photos of Yuuri. He smiled to himself, trying to decide which one was his favourite.

His phone buzzed with the notification for yet another message of congratulations on their wedding. He tapped out a quick reply, then tucked his phone in his pocket and headed across the shop towards Yuuri. He was just passing the magazine aisle when his gaze fell on something that made him grin from ear to ear.

He picked up the magazine and flipped through it, then looked across at Yuuri, who was standing in the parapharmacy aisle, a small frown on his face, reading the back of one of the two tubes of suncream in his hands.

Victor smiled, a rush of affection bubbling up inside him. He hurried across to Yuuri. Wordlessly he held out the magazine, open on the right page. It was an interview he'd done with Japan's top sports magazine just before flying to Worlds.

_An interview with Victor Nikiforov_

_We spoke to current World Champion Katsuki Yuuri's husband during a short break in his busy schedule..._

Yuuri blushed and looked up at Victor. "They already knew?" His confusion was understandable. The wedding had only been three days earlier.

"I told them we'd be married by the time it came out."

Yuuri blushed harder, but he looked pleased.

"Of course they already knew about your gold medal as well," Victor added. He never missed any occasion to mention it. It was already one of his most treasured memories: standing beside Yuuri on the podium at Worlds, Yuuri smiling down at him, his expression an adorable mixture of pride and amazement.

Although, Victor considered, that image had a close competitor for the title of most treasured memory: the two of them heading out onto the ice together in the same warm-up group, just before they skated against each other at Worlds.

"Ready to go back to the hotel?" he asked now.

Yuuri went up to the counter to pay for his purchases. Then he slid his hand into Victor's and they walked back to the hotel together, and tumbled straight into bed.


End file.
